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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24206980">Wings and Talons</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseisaRoseisaRose/pseuds/RoseisaRoseisaRose'>RoseisaRoseisaRose</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Conspiracies, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fight Scenes, Meaningful Eye Contact, a very high strung pegasus and a giant goof of a wyvern, endgame Blue Lions route, he's the worst person I've ever met to lovers, is this fluff? probably fluff, well not really enemies they just fight a lot, you get it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:42:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,407</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24206980</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseisaRoseisaRose/pseuds/RoseisaRoseisaRose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ingrid Galatea was on a routine mission to deliver a message to the Almyran capital when a stray arrow flew into her and ruined everything.</p><p>Claude von Riegan was on a routine scouting mission to keep the Almyran trade routes safe when Ingrid Galatea flew into him and ruined everything.</p><p>If they can stop arguing for 30 seconds this might end up being the best worst thing that’s ever happened to them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Claude von Riegan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>109</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Center Cannot Hold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultyghost/gifts">soultyghost</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ingrid was pretty sure her ankle was twisted. But that was the least of her worries at the moment.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The first of her worries was that Hermia had run off. She’d had the same pegasus throughout the war, and trusted her more than she trusted a good three-quarters of her battle companions. Hermia wasn’t the sort to shy, or panic. Ingrid called her “practical,” which caused Sylvain to shoot tea out of his nose with laughter the first time he’d heard the compliment. But it was true. Hermia was a very practical, sensible pegasus, and she trusted Ingrid and Ingrid trusted her, and so Ingrid was naturally sick with worry as to where she might have run off to.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The first of Ingrid’s worries (call it a subset of general Hermia-worries) was also that Hermia was hurt. The arrow had come out of nowhere, catching Ingrid across her side but grazing her rather than piercing her. It had been shock rather than injury that had caused both rider and mount to lose control of the situation, to tumble from the sky at a 20 foot drop onto a wooded hillside. Ingrid supposed she should have been thankful she hit the hillside and not the woods, and that she’d managed to stay on Hermia’s back for long enough that the fall hadn’t actually killed her. But when she finally pulled herself up into seated position on the grass, Hermia was gone, and Ingrid was alone on a wooded hillside, and someone had been shooting arrows at her.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Which brought her to the second of her concerns: She was alone, in unfamiliar territory, and the only fact she knew for a certainty was that someone did not want her there.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dimitri had asked her to leave for Almyra that morning. Following their victory at Fort Merceus the previous week, their sights were on Enbarr and the end of the long, horrible war that had consumed most of Ingrid’s adult life. Her task was simple: fly to the capital, confirm the tenuous-but-established peace treaty along the eastern border, and fly back with a guarantee that Dimitri’s army could march on Enbarr without fearing an attack from multiple sides. Ingrid had taken the assignment begrudgingly – Dimitri’s suggestion that she would be perfectly suited for negotiations with Almyran royalty were bizarre, if not outright incorrect. She strongly suspected the newly returned prince of Almyra would come up with aggravating terms, or draw out negotiations, just to spite her, unless he’d done an awful lot of growing up since their academy days. But frankly, when she’d left that morning, an afternoon of arguing with Claude von Riegan had been the most terrible scenario she could imagine. He would annoy her, but he would agree. And she was sure he would find a way to annoy her. Perhaps that’s why she wasn’t paying attention as she crossed over the Almyran border, headed to the capital city. Perhaps that’s why the arrow almost found its mark.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid pulled herself to her knees and hobbled over to a nearby tree stump. She could put weight on her leg, just barely, even if walking felt nearly impossible. At least it wasn’t broken, then. She prodded at her shin, which was already turning a nauseating shade of reddish-bluish-purple, and winced as she made contact. Her vulneraries might be enough to tide her over. Tide her over to what, she wasn’t exactly sure. Flying was her best chance out of here. If she was lucky, she might be able to find Hermia before whoever had shot at her did.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A commotion from over the hill drew Ingrid out of her contemplation. She heard the voices before she saw whom they belonged to. She gave a hasty glance towards the woods, but running was out of the question, and hiding spots were scarce unless she could make it to the tree line in the next 30 seconds or so. Ingrid grabbed her lance and pulled herself to her feet, shifting the entirety of her weight to her left side. She tried to match such a lopsided stance with a fierce expression as half a dozen men came into view over the hillside.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She was lucky that she had her lance, even after the fall. She was lucky that they appeared to not have found Hermia. She was lucky that she had heard them before they saw her, giving her time to pull herself into a battle stance, quick and fierce and ready to parry.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Other than that, it seemed all her luck had run out.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The leader of the group – Ingrid assumed he was the leader, because he was the tallest, and he looked the meanest, and his beard was the ugliest – threw out his hand to stop his companions as the came into view. He strode towards her unhurriedly, not bothering to hide the smirk as he looked her up and down. “A dangerous place to be out alone, lass,” he said, his voice mocking and grating on her ears. “And a strange time of the year to be out picking wildflowers.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid gave the entire group an appraising glance, sizing up her chances. They were armed, but their weapons were makeshift and rusted, beyond the shiny silver of the axe their leader carried. She could reasonably hope that such a ragtag assortment of weapons meant they were similarly unorganized in their battle tactics, but five against one wasn’t great odds. Her eyes narrowed in confusion as she surveyed the group. She knew relatively little of the world outside of Faerghus, but these men didn’t look like the handful of Almyran troops she’d fought against or alongside in her time as a solider. Their outfits and gear more closely resembled merchants traveling around the Alliance, although more faded and bloody than the bright outfits that shopkeepers wore in the southeast corners of Fódlan. One thing was certain – these were not members of Claude’s army. She wasn't sure they had any larger commander to appeal to. She tried anyways.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Stand back, sir,” she said, her voice practiced in the art of speaking with more authority than she had claim to. She spoke on behalf of a prince, after all. “I seek safe passage to the capital; I have a message for the prince on behalf of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The man’s smirk turned into a sneer. “How lovely, boys, we’ve got a </span>
  <em>
    <span>messenger</span>
  </em>
  <span> here today,” he said, looking around behind him with a sarcastic laugh. “That's an awfully fancy weapon for a diplomatic mission, lass,” he added, looking back to Ingrid, who stood with her lance at the ready. “I suppose they can afford that sort of thing if you’re coming all the way from the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Holy Kingdom of Faerghus</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He spat the last words as if they were a curse.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid’s eyes flashed towards him, angered by the disrespect to Dimitri, but also the condescending way he drawled every word at her, the way he’d already written her off as an easy mark with a pretty weapon. She took a deep breath, drawing her focus away from her irritation and trying not to let it resettle on the pain in her ankle. “I mean you no harm and bear you no ill will,” she said, her voice more authoritative than conciliatory, although conciliatory was possibly more likely to get her what she wanted. “If you will be on your way, it seems we have nothing more to offer each other in this conversation.” She gave a slight bow, polite but not deferential, and stayed where she was, hoping they would move so she would not have to. She wasn’t sure how obvious her injuries were but a limp was a weakness she had no intention of revealing.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t leave, and Ingrid wished she could say she was surprised. The leader smiled and his companions followed suit; he seemed to be the only one in charge of talking but they were good at mimicking. “We’re agreed on that,” he said, too pleasantly to be pleasant. “I certainly don’t think you have anything to offer us by way of </span>
  <em>
    <span>conversation</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The weapon, on the other hand – and if you could be so kind as to tell us where that pegasus of yours ran off to? She’s more valuable than you, love. Take us to her and we just might let you go off to the capital, after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid grimaced, dropping what little pretense of civility she had left. She wasn’t surprised they were the ones who had shot at her. Still, she liked to give people the benefit of the doubt. A knight should ask questions first and shoot later. But it would seem all of her questions had been answered.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid could run, but she wouldn’t get far. She could scream, but she doubted anyone would hear her. She could try charging into them, maybe take one or two down on the element of surprise, but she didn’t have a plan after that and one or two was not four or five, last she checked. So she twirled her lance to be in front of her, pointed slightly outward at the pack, and shifted her weight to her good leg. If they wanted to attack, they could try. She was ready.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“In the name of Prince Dimitri and the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, I order you to step aside,” she said. “Leave now and you take your life with you. I will not ask again.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In response, the leader of the bandits charged forward, his men following close behind. Their weapons were drawn. It wasn’t the first time Ingrid had received such a response to such a request. She desperately hoped it wouldn’t be the last.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid could tell they were amateurs, or at least, that they had little experience in working as a team. For starters, they all ran at her at the same time, clearly all intending to land a first hit. This may have seemed like a good idea in theory, but in practice, this was just what Ingrid was banking on.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As the first axe swung down towards her, Ingrid dodged, easily anticipating the trajectory before the swing had even begun. In return, she jabbed at the wielder with the butt of her lance, sending him flying backwards into one of his unsuspecting friends. They crashed into one another and Ingrid stopped caring about them, for the time being. She reversed direction of her lance, swinging it forwards, into a bandit that was trying to flank her from the right. The lance made precise, sickening contact, and she pulled back, ignoring the gurgle of pain in her peripheral hearing and mentally marking that quadrant as safe – for now. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The bandit leader was upon her, now, and she deflected his first hit with her lance, but barely. Her follow up attack was too slow, her reaction time thrown off by the shockwave through her shoulders, and the leader sidestepped her lance with a smirk. He swung his axe once more, and Ingrid plunged to the side, wincing in pain as her injured ankle temporarily bore her weight. She swung back around into a fighting stance, and struck with her lance again – not at the bandit, but at the handle of his axe. She pressed downward, fiercely and intently, and forced the axe to clatter to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid gave a triumphant, wordless yell and charged forward, her lance raised. The bandit leader’s eyes widened in shock, but rather than pivoting backwards, as she’d hope, he instead raised his arm and ran forward, side stepping Ingrid’s lance and elbowing her in the ribs at close range, sending her stumbling backwards and knocking the breath out of her.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid made a mental note that at least one of them could think on his feet and regrounded into a battle stance. She needed to focus, not let her guard down as she had just done.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The leader had faded into the background, to recover his axe or his dignity or both. Ingrid swung to face yet another attack from a side that untrained observers might have considered unguarded. Ingrid thanked the goddess that she was dealing with one such untrained observer, who was foolish enough to become an untrained opponent, and she easily sidestepped his attack. Twirling her lance over her head, Ingrid executed a perfect third of a falcon rider’s signature triangle attack, one that she had been practicing since she was a child. The lance came down with shattering power, and her attack crumpled to the ground. That she was on foot, and alone, did not diminish her brief flash of pride at another successfully executed formation. It was a shame, she thought, that no one was around to see it. Her former opponent certainly would not be telling anyone about it. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid allowed herself a moment to breathe. She’d taken down at least two, she knew that. The leader would be back with a recovered weapon; he would be easiest to take down if she could eliminate the others first – but had it been one or two other bandits remaining, after the leader? She spotted movement from her right, shifted to take an oncoming hit from an axe. She could already tell he would be too clumsy to stand a chance; not enough power in his swing.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She heard the footsteps in the grass directly behind her right before she could turn back around. The sword cut directly into her arm before she could pull away. Two bandits remaining, then, not one.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She turned towards her attacker and aimed her lance in a long, arcing swing, warding off side attacked even as she made contact with her target. The hit was imprecise, and she inwardly chided herself for her slapdash technique, but she had the intended effect of knocking him off his balance and delaying a counter attack as she sensed an axe swing from behind her and pivoted again, facing the leader once more. There were less of them now, but they seemed to have found a sense of coordination. She might have a chance if she could just take one down, and a second, while parrying attacks from the others. She just needed to outdodge and outlast; power had never needed to be Ingrid’s strong suit.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The leader looked unsurprised when she sidestepped his swing, which was a disappointment – Ingrid took a selfish pleasure in every look of surprise that flitted across enemy faces when she dodged their attack as easily as she drew breath. It was also a disappointment from a tactical standpoint, as he wasted no time in swinging again, but as Ingrid dodged that his as easily as the first one, she allowed her vainer regrets to take subtle precedence. She gritted her teeth as she raised her lance to swing – the sword cut had gone deeper than she’d expected, and while it didn’t appear to have lessened the power of her swing, pain radiated outward at even the slightest exertion, so it took full effort to compensate for the pain as she attacked once more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As it happened, she overcompensated – her lance missing its mark and following through a little too far downward. Ingrid gave a scoff of annoyance, already preparing for the counter attack. The bandit brought his axe down with expected force – but not towards Ingrid. Instead, he aimed his axe direct at the lance she was already swinging back into fighting position. (Swinging too slowly, a voice in the back of her head reminded her. The newfound pain in her arm was not unbearable but it was disorienting.) The axe met the lance with a sickening crack, and Ingrid had a sudden snippet of conversation flash through her memory – Sylvain asking her if she’d needed to repair her lance before she left, her accusation that he was trying to get her out of his hair, Mercedes’s laugh just within earshot. Turns out they’d both been right, Ingrid thought, holding up her lance with a sinking heart, the crack in the lower third rendering it all but unusable.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The bandit’s smirk was unbearable as he stepped forward, grabbing either side of the broken lance and finishing the break with a swift, brutal motion. He gave Ingrid a wide smile before he tossed the silver head of the lance over his shoulder. It landed uselessly in the grass behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hit the weapon, not the solider,” he said with a sneer. “That’s a good technique, girl. I’ll have to remember that one.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid punched him in the jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t expecting it, and he reeled back from the impact with a roar, no longer smiling. The other two bandits raised their weapons and leaned forward, and Ingrid dared not attempt a follow up hit, but he raised his hand before they could move towards her, his control of the situation at odds with the red and raw mark Ingrid had left across his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This would have been the time to run, if she could have managed anything beyond a shuffle. It would have also been an excellent time to pull out a hidden weapon, and she ruefully thought back the arrows and daggers tucked safely away in the Hermia’s saddlebags. Ingrid took a step back, wincing as she shifted weight onto her bad ankle, and then another step back, shifting into a defense stance even as she cast her lance aside. She squared up, fists in front of her, hearing Felix in the back of her head critiquing her form, flicking her eyes to the flecks of blood across her knuckles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your comrades died for nothing,” she said. “Do not make the same mistake.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the one making a mistake,” the leftmost bandit said, his voice a higher whine than she’d anticipated. “To think you can claw your way out, unarmed against three of your superiors.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid angled toward him, surprised to hear him speak. The rightmost bandit charged – from some unspoken signal or his own nerves, Ingrid knew not. She swiveled and dodged his fists – he’d evidently forgotten he had a sword – but her wrist was caught as she raised her arm to strike. The leftmost, whiny bandit had evidently learned a thing or two about coordination in the last twenty minutes, and he’d pounced at the opening. He wrenched her arm behind her back, and Ingrid bit back a cry of pain as her wrist bent upwards at an unnatural angle. She was starting to lose feeling in the fingers of her other hand, and her flail away from him was short-lived as he grabbed that arm, too, jerking it backwards with a painful tug. Ingrid thrashed against the grip but was unable to get out of it; her injured arm throbbing painfully with every tiny movement.  She stopped her struggle just in time to see the leader of the bandits step in front of her. He grabbed her by the front of her collar and pulled her towards him, lifting her slightly up. At least, Ingrid thought darkly, she didn’t have as much weight on her ankle now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The terms of my offer have changed,” he snarled at her, panting heavily as he brought her too close. “You’re dying either way. Help us find that winged rat of yours, and I’ll be kind enough to kill you quickly.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid kicked at him but only succeeded in throwing herself off balance, struggling to regain balance on an injured leg and with her arms trapped behind her. She looked up at him angrily and took great pleasure in how ugly his face was going to be for the next few days. She wondered if it was unknightly to spit; she no longer cared if it was unladylike.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The bandit chuckled, leaning in closer. “And if you keep trying these little stunts, I’ll kill you slowly. And that, lass, will be much worse than any pain or injury that you can ima –”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The arrow hit the bandit so directly, and with such force, that it had to have been a shot meant exactly and only for him. His threat disintegrated into gurgling wordlessness, and he dropped his hold on Ingrid, stumbling away. Two more arrows hit him in such quick succession that it was impossible to say which of the three actually killed him.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid jolted back in surprise, jostling into the bandit behind her, who had a terrified, white-knuckle grip on her now. Ingrid hastily scanned the surrounding field for a sign of an archer, but could see no one in along the horizon. She turned to try to glimpse of the nearby treeline, but the bandit yanked her forward by her aching arm. A telltale flap of wings, however, made her realize her gaze had been in the right direction – but too far down.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Looking up, the silhouette of a wyvern was unmistakable, even as midafternoon sun obscured all details in its backlighting. It swooped towards them at a breakneck speed, its wings kicking up gusts of wind as it circled that would have knocked Ingrid off her feet if she weren’t being held up. As it was, the bandit clung to her arms as if she was a useful shield, someone that could protect him from the incoming beast. She could not.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The wyvern landed on the edge of the hill with a kind of clambering confidence that almost approximated grace. Ingrid’s eyes had adjusted back enough from her ill-advised glimpse sunward to realize it was a startling all-white wyvern, its golden eyes all the more stark against blindingly bright scales. She had only seen such coloration twice in her life, and her heart did a backflip as she slid her eyes to the dismounting rider, scarcely believing her perfectly horrible luck.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Claude von Riegan strode towards them slowly, almost lazily, spinning an arrow around his fingers with a practiced ease. Ingrid would bet her portion of dinner that he was playing some overly orchestrated operatic score in his head as he walked; he made no effort to hide the pleasure he took in achieving such a dramatic entrance. It was as obnoxious as it was effective – between Claude’s careless notching of his bow and the hulking wyvern angrily snorting smoke behind him, the remaining bandits both evidently decided that it was finally time to cut their losses and run. Ingrid’s would-be executioner tossed her viciously aside before sprinting away and she fell to the ground. She took consolation that it was her good arm that hit the grass first, and not her injured one. She’d need something to thank the goddess for the next time she prayed, and she wasn’t finding a ton of options at the moment.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Claude turned back towards his wyvern, jerked his head towards the retreating backs of the two bandits, and barked a command that sounded an awful lot like “Fetch.” The wyvern took off in a run across the hill and Ingrid instinctively curled away from its path, not wanting to add “trampled by a wyvern” to her growing list of injuries that day, but it had taken to the skies before it even reached her, and she pushed herself up slightly to watch it swoop after the retreating bandits, the occasional burst of flame nearly but not quite catching up to them.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A shadow fell across her, and Ingrid looked up to see Claude standing over her, looking down at her with his head tilted to the side, like a cat that had just spotted something interesting in the distance. His eyebrows were knit together in curiosity, or perhaps confusion, but as Ingrid shifted to look up at him, his eyes shifted into an emotion far too pleased for Ingrid’s taste – she would code it, uncharitably, as “sparkling in amusement.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“They weren’t friends of yours, right?” he asked. “I’d feel bad if they were friends of yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid closed her eyes and drew a breath through her nose, but unfortunately, when she opened them, both the pain and Claude were still there. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder, down the hill in the direction the bandits had run.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It would seem your wyvern’s run off, sir,” she said, the politeness in her voice not fooling Claude for even a second. “Perhaps you had better fetch him.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a bit hypocritical of you, wouldn’t you say, Miss Galatea?” Claude asked, taking a seat next to her in the grass. “Unless there are </span>
  <em>
    <span>two</span>
  </em>
  <span> pegasus wandering the woods snapping at the fingers of charming and well-meaning friends who are just trying to help, that is. Otherwise, I think I ran into your mount less than an hour ago. Without you there, I might add.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You found Hermia?” Ingrid asked. “Is she – she’s okay, right? Where is she?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’s fine, Ingrid,” Claude said. “We’re a little worried about her wings, but a group of our soldiers always trek back from these missions on foot. I told them to take her to the capital – and then set off to look for her rider.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You knew it was my pegasus?” Ingrid asked, skeptically. Most people she knew couldn’t keep track of one mount from another, but she </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been with Hermia since before the war. There was a chance Claude remembered.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Claude flashed her a grin. “Never met an animal that hates me that much, Ingrid. She hasn’t forgotten me, either, I guess.” He waggled his gloved fingers in front of Ingrid. “Nearly took my fingers clean off.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad she’s safe,” Ingrid murmured, momentarily forgetting her own pain as relief washed over her. She suddenly remembered the start of the conversation and jerked her head towards the disappearing figures of the two bandits. “Seriously, Claude, they’ve got weapons. You should call your wyvern back to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nah, he’ll be okay,” Claude said. “I’m part of a larger scouting troop, trying to track down thieves like these guys. My men will be able to follow him easier than 2 men on foot; he’ll come back here once they’ve been caught.” Sure enough, Ingrid realized as she looked up, the skyline was littered with wyvern riders, spread out in scouting formation. A set of them had already broken from the group and were streaking north, towards Claude’s wyvern and its prey.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your wyvern’s doing all the work for you these days?” Ingrid scoffed. “That checks out.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Weirdly enough, Ingrid, I was kind of expecting a thank you or something,” Claude said, stretching his hands behind his head lazily. “Your new friends didn’t look like the nicest of guys, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I was taking care of it,” Ingrid snapped. The pause was just long enough for her to feel ridiculous. “But yes, thank you,” she finally added. “I’m glad it was y – I'm glad to see a familiar face.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t like leaving an opening, but Claude didn’t use sincerity as a chance to strike back. He got to his feet and briefly held out a hand, then pulled back, uncertain. “Okay,” he said slowly. “What part of you is </span>
  <em>
    <span>least</span>
  </em>
  <span> injured right now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, I’ve got it,” Ingrid said, pushing herself up to a fully seated position and then struggling to her feet. “The last thing I need is for you to have another reason  - oh goddess,” she swore, stumbling forward as she put an ill-advised amount of weight on her bad ankle. Now that the adrenaline of battle was gone, her beaten-down joints were refusing to cooperate.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Claude caught her, quickly and easily, and she looked up at him, annoyed at herself for stumbling and annoyed at Claude for seeing her stumble. She hadn’t seen him outside of the battlefield for something like four years now. Up close, he was both strikingly different and remarkably the same. She tried to remember if he’d actually grown taller or if his shoulders had just broadened out to make him seem more towering than she remembered, but his green eyes had the same intelligent, observant intensity, and his lips still seemed on the verge of a smirk at all times. Claude hadn’t let go of the inside jokes that only he was privy to, evidently. Ingrid wished he’d let go of her.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you’ve got it,” he said, walking them both over to the same tree stump Ingrid had taken refuge at earlier. “I’d never imply otherwise.” He narrowed his eyes as Ingrid took a seat; she ignored him, gingerly poking at her ankle to decide if she should upgrade it to broken. “Do you have anything for that arm, though, is the question,” he said, and Ingrid glanced at her arm, which was streaked with crusted and barely-congealing blood.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Umm, yeah, I think – hold on,” Ingrid said, scrambling for a vulnerary at her belt. Blessedly she hadn’t left </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>in Hermia’s saddlebags.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid fumbled to get the vulnerary open, her fingers covered in sweat and blood and gods knew what else, and Claude plucked it out of her hands before she could object, or even really give it a serious try. She took the bottle back from him without looking at him, her eyes still on her swollen and discolored ankle, with a second muttered “thank you.” She was surprised, as she raised the bottle to her lips, to realize she was holding an elixir. She looked up finally and Claude was inspecting her own vulnerary judgmentally.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“These look just like the ones they issued us when we were students at – how long have you </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> this? Do these things have an expiration date?” He asked, turning it upside down to inspect the bottom. Viscous vulnerary liquid dripped over the edges, falling at his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Claude! Stop that, you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasting</span>
  </em>
  <span> it,” Ingrid said. “I need that!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll need more than this, look at yourself,” Claude said skeptically. “Those guys really did a number on you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They weren’t so bad,” Ingrid said defensively. “Most of this is from the fall.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>fell</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Like off your pegasus?” Claude actually looked shocked for a moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t my fault! There was a lucky hit from an arrow, I’m just glad that they didn’t hit –”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Drink,” Claude interrupted her, nudging her elbow upwards.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m fine, Claude. I can’t afford to pay you back for –”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be an idiot,” Claude interrupted her again, and Ingrid’s glare intensified. “Pay me back? Just drink the damn elixir, Ingrid.” He looked back at the vulnerary he was holding. “I’m throwing this away; I don’t think it’s supposed to smell so . . . vinegary.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid took the angriest swig of elixir in the history of drinking, and was cut off mid-sip by as she broke into a cough, the burning at the back of her throat a new, if not painful, sensation. It felt different than healing magic, a warm light that surrounded you from the outside and gently soothed over broken skin and displaced bones. She felt like she could feel the liquid heat of the elixir coursing through her veins to the tips of her fingers, red-hot and then instantly too cold, particularly as it passed beneath injuries. The relief that followed was too quick, too sudden a change, and Ingrid drew a sharp breath of air as her coughing subsided, staring in shock at the newly forming skin as it spider-webbed up her arm. She could never afford a bottle of this. Part of her wasn’t sorry.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“So, do you want to go first in explaining why we’re both out here on this picturesque hill, or shall I?” Claude asked. “I must admit I didn’t expect to see you here today – or ever, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You said you were on a scouting mission?” Ingrid asked. She looked behind her, where the bodies of the three bandits lay where they had fallen. “They weren’t from Almyra,” she said. It was both a fact and a question.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No, they rarely are,” Claude said. “The war in Fodlan casts a long shadow; even the victories, sometimes. The new unification of the Kingdom and the Alliance has increased trade routes for the first time in years. But there are plenty of Alliance merchants – if you can call them that – who think Almyran travelers are easier targets for . . .  shall we say for acquiring stock. The war drove them to the edge, but peacetime isn’t an automatic switch, right? You have to work at it.” He frowned, glancing at the bodies himself, then turning away, pushing at Ingrid’s shoulder until she turned away, as well. “I think the court thinks I’ll have a better time negotiating, because I’ve got Alliance connections,” he said ruefully. “But so far the people we come across aren’t interested in talking.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I found that,” Ingrid muttered. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your mission. I meant to meet you in the capital.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The capital?” Claude said, looking down at her in surprise. “I assumed this was some business near the border.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m serving in capacity as the Prince’s personal courier right now,” Ingrid said, and it felt strange on her tongue to say it, and delicious, and she wanted to say it again. It was, perhaps, the closest to knighthood she would ever get.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Claude gave her a wide smile, and Ingrid realized he must have read the pride across her face, and that he probably found it ridiculous. He offered her a slight bow. “A lady of letters now, then? I’m all ears,” he said, crossing his arms and fixing her with an inquiring gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I bring a message,” Ingrid began, trying to tap into that same borrowed confidence, but suddenly finding herself a bit embarrassed to be so on display under Claude’s scrutiny. “From his Royal Highness the Crown Prince of the Holy Kingdom of Fa –” she winced as a lightning bolt of pain shot through her body, her message getting lost in the gasp she let out. The elixir had healed her most immediate injuries, but the aftershocks of pain came in waves as the numbing effect flickered down.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah, okay, don’t talk, hold on,” Claude said. He prodded at the elixir in her hand, his other hand settling on her shoulder.  “Drink more if you need more. Why don’t we just wait until we get back to the capital and you can tell me –”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I bring a message,” Ingrid cut him off, her eyes flashing angrily up at him. His voice was cajoling. Soothing. Condescending. She had one job and he wouldn’t even listen.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He dropped the charm, glaring back at her. “Ingrid, seriously,” he said before she could continue with the report. “Can you even stand right now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just let me do this,” Ingrid said through gritted teeth, her hand gripping into her skirt so tightly that she could feel nail marks through the fabric and against her leg.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Claude took a step back, hands up in defeat. “A message, fine, whatever,” he said, annoyance written across his face. “From Dimitri. Let’s hear it, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid closed her eyes to reorient herself, but she would look Claude in the eye while she delivered the message. Even if he looked at her like she was an idiot – or worse, a curiosity. She owed herself that much.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Our army prepares to march on Enbarr at the end of the month,” she said. She had her doubts on sharing such information so openly, but her job was to be a mouthpiece, not an advisor. And in all likelihood this wasn’t news to Claude. “We request resources at the eastern border of Faerghus. It is in our mutual interest to see the Empire’s campaign of violence and treachery halted once and for all. All we ask is that Almyra promise to uphold existing peace treaties formally established by Alliance territory.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was a long message, and Ingrid felt out of breath before she’d gotten two words into it. But she stumbled through it with minimal coughing, and if she gasped too loudly for a breath at the end of it, Claude didn’t seem to notice. He was looking off into the sky, generally towards Faerghus territory.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“So it’s finally come down to Enbarr,” he said, his voice sounding far away to Ingrid, which might have been an effect of exhaustion, or of too much elixir too fast. “It was inevitable; it’s been inevitable since this whole war began.” He pulled his attention back to Ingrid, who had been staring at him without meaning to, but who didn’t blush when he looked back at her. Claude stared at her all the time, or he had; he could handle a baffled glance or two in retaliation.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you an answer, then?” Ingrid said, and if her tone was impatient, Claude didn’t seem insulted.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dimitri’s at Garreg Mach, I take it? Not the capital?” he asked. Ingrid nodded, and Claude surprised her by tuning back towards the skies and giving a loud whistle, using his fingers to project the sound so it pierced through the air. A wyvern rider looping patrol circles across the sky caught the sound and cast a wide gyre in their descent before landing several yards away from the pair. Ingrid gave a subtle sigh of relief as the rider dismounted and walked towards Claude. Perhaps her injuries were a boon, in a strange sort of way – Claude didn’t seem in the mood to argue or to tease, so if she could fetch her pegasus and his answer, she might be able to make it back to Garreg Mach before nightfall.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“A message for Prince Dimitri, of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus,” Claude said, and Ingrid gave him a suspicious glance – first, because she wasn’t entirely sure his formalities weren’t a mocking imitation of her own, and then because she was unsure why this knight needed to know the message. He continued, “Tell him that his courier has arrived safely in Almyra, and I will send another message in the morning, once we have had time for negotiations. You’ll find him at Garreg Mach Monastery. He should give you shelter for the night, but make haste – I’d rather he have this message sooner rather than later.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The wyvern rider hurried away with a simple “yes, highness,” and Claude turned back and walked towards Ingrid, his eyes still faraway in thought, as if he was traveling back to Garreg Mach at faster speeds than any wyvern could manage.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Claude! Did you think I couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear</span>
  </em>
  <span> that?” Ingrid said, jumping to her feet, leaving the flask on the stump behind her. She swayed unsteadily from the sudden movement, but was pleased to see she could once again balance on a leg well enough to stand – the elixir was doing faster work than she’d anticipated. She didn’t drink them very often.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Claude looked up at her in confusion, as if he’d momentarily forgotten she was there. “What? You said Dimitri was at Garreg Mach, right? They’ve plenty of spare rooms there; the least they can do is can put my best wyvern knight up for a night,” he said, raising an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Ingrid snapped at him, taking several angry steps towards him. “This is not a conversation that requires extensive negotiation. Just give me a yes or no answer and take me to my pegasus, and I’ll be on my way!”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her leg chose that moment to remind her that it elixirs wouldn’t fix everything, and she stumbled forwards, her ankle throbbing from the briefest moment of holding weight. Claude caught her by the arms before she could properly fall, and held her fast as she tried to shake him off, looking down at her as she flailed both to loosen his grip and to regain her footing. Neither attempt was particularly successful.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Ingrid, I can’t guarantee a healer will be available as soon as we get back to the palace,” he said, shifting his grip to more steadily hold Ingrid by her elbow, keeping her weight entirely off her leg but practically lifting her off the ground in the process.  “It might approach nightfall by the time you’re ready to travel. And this way, you’ll have a chance to rest before you head out.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need </span>
  <em>
    <span>rest</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I don’t need a healer,” Ingrid protested. The look Claude gave her was not judgmental so much as legitimately confused, but she felt judged regardless. “Give me an answer and I’ll be out of you way. I’m not demanding accommodations, Claude; I want no more than a message to return. It’s a reasonable request, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No one said anything about requests, or demands, Ingrid,” Claude said. He gave her a charming smile that didn’t last quite long enough – Claude’s smiles never did. His eyes weren’t settling on hers properly; he instead seemed to be scanning her face, taking stock of the bruises and scratches and imperfections of battle. “I’m inviting you to stay the at the palace as an official guest of the Almyran royal family. To ensure our continued good favor with the Kingdom. Dimitri would prefer it if I took care of you, don’t you think?” he added. His practiced smile was replaced by a frown as he brought his hand up and brushed the back of his knuckles alongside a nasty gash that stretched across her cheekbone.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid swatted his hand away with her free arm.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t interpret this as rudeness, highness, but I must refuse such invitation,” Ingrid said. She had many official reasons she could give – she was needed at Dimitri’s side; she would prefer to tend to Hermia’s wounds in the comfort of her own stables; the return message would only be trusted from her lips and surely Claude also wished for such messages to remain trustworthy. But in honesty, she just wasn’t sure she could stand another second of Claude von Riegan making a mental list of her flaws and injuries. He was lazy and arrogant, yes, but he was also smart, and calculating. And the longer she stayed in Almyra, the more he could calculate about </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And that made her feel just as vulnerable as she had when she watched her lance snap in front of her eyes. Just with a different sort of vulnerability.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t give this as her reason, of course, and as Claude continued to stare at her, puzzling her reply together with her generally disheveled appearance, she added, “I am confident enough in my own abilities that I need not trespass on your hospitality. I am not inclined to ask favors of our allies so readily.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Claude’s puzzled eyes narrowed for a moment. “Fine, then,” he said. “Then I’m taking you back to the capital as a suspected spy, for intruding on Almyran lands during wartime.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid’s jaw dropped open in disbelief, and she shoved Claude backwards, stumbling away from him, ankle injury or no ankle injury. “You wouldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said, dropping the mask of decorum to fix him with five years of pent up fury – at every irresponsible, entitled man she’d ever met, not just at him. “That would be a direct affront to the Kingdom,” she snapped at him.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Claude threw his hands up in exasperation. “Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but so would sending Dimitri back a </span>
  <em>
    <span>half-dead knight</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Or worse, a fully dead one!”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re impossible!” Ingrid cried. She collapsed back down on the tree stump, to avoid standing any longer, and glared up at Claude. “You think you know what’s best for everyone; you won’t budge on a single negotiation – how are you expecting to run a country if you just boss everyone around to have things your way?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, Ingrid, from some vantage points that’s literally what running a country is,” Claude replied tersely. Ingrid narrowed her eyes at him, and she didn’t have to say it – he knew she had little respect for such vantage points. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, a gesture of exasperation that Ingrid recognized even years later. He sat on the edge of the stump next to her, and Ingrid found herself scooting over to allow him more room even though he didn’t ask for it. He readjusted, and looked at her, his eyes still exasperated but more determined.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You want negotiation? Fine,” he said. “Come back to the palace. I’ll fast track a healer to look at you, and I’ll have the stable master personally oversee the care of your pegasus.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hermia,” Ingrid corrected him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bless you,” he said, and she glared at him. “And then we’ll both agree to go by </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> diagnoses, okay? When they say it’s safe to fly, it’s safe to fly.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s hardly a neutral party if you’re picking the healer and you’re picking the stablehand,” Ingrid pointed out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You wound me, Ingrid,” Claude said, clasping a hand melodramatically to his heart. “I am a man of honor; I will provide the finest expertise for my favorite former classmate. Besides,” he added, returning her eyeroll with a raised eyebrow of his own in a way that was uncannily like their teenage conversations. “Your other option is 20 days bread and water in the palace dungeons, so maybe you’re just going to have to trust me on this one.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You never miss a trick, Claude von Riegan,” Ingrid mumbled angrily, but she was losing energy to argue, and that didn’t bode well for her having enough energy to travel back to Garreg Mach, even if she did manage to win this debate. The world was bending slightly in and out of focus, and she dug her fingers into her knees again, the sudden rush of pain bringing her back into the present. One final set of bruises wouldn’t mean anything in the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She was more sharply brought back to the present by something prodding against her arm – she looked over and Claude was offering out the flask of elixir again. If she didn’t know better she would have thought he looked worried.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“One more sip won’t kill you,” he said, more kindly and coaxing than he’d been moments earlier. “You held your own pretty damn well out there, Ingrid.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ingrid ignored the compliment, took the flask, eyed it suspiciously. “I’m rather worried too much of this stuff is what’s making the world spin right now,” she said, and she pushed it back towards him.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He frowned. “Could be. That or the blood loss,” he said, but he pocketed the elixir without further argument. He gave Ingrid another worried glance, and stood up, offering a hand. “On that note, we should probably get going. The sooner we get to the palace, the sooner someone can patch you up.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid nodded and sighed. She took Claude’s hand and pulled herself up, shifting her weight automatically to her good leg. But Claude surprised her, continuing to pull her forward. He reached down scooped her up, one arm settling under her knees and the other dropping to rest on her back. Ingrid grabbed the collar of his shirt for balance with an undignified yelp.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Claude, don’t you – I can walk on my own just fine,” she said. She could feel a blush creeping up her entire face as Claude readjusted his hands to get a better grip on her, somehow managing to avoid the numerous cuts and scrapes as his calloused fingers flickered across her legs.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so objectively that’s not true. You know that’s not true, right? Like. Objectively,” Claude replied. He had already begun walking down the hill, away from the forest and the stump and the awful scene of battle. Ingrid didn’t think he’d drop her, not really, but as the hill angled downward she grabbed the back of his neck in a momentary reflex of panic, and then couldn’t think of a way out of it without admitting that she </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> panicked. Claude didn’t seem to notice her furious internal debate of how to best regain dignity. He continued, sensibly, “You can barely put weight on your ankle, Ingrid. And I’m pretty sure nothing on the human body is supposed to be that shade of purple.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Leave my ankle alone,” Ingrid grumbled. “It never did anything to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmmm, not sure about that,” Claude said, “I seem to remember getting kicked under the table in lecture more than once when we were in classes together.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Those were my toes, not my ankle,” Ingrid said. She could also be the voice of meticulous reason if she put her mind to it. “And you were probably drifting asleep during seminar. You should thank me for being so invested in your education.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, consider this thanks to your toes, then. Hold on,” Claude said. Ingrid gripped the back of his shirt more tightly, but he hadn’t meant hold on literally. Shifting Ingrid once again so her head jostled against him, Claude looked out across the field that stretched before them at the bottom of the hill and let out a piercing whistle. Ingrid supposed she was glad he wasn’t whistling directly in her face, but she still flinched at the sudden sound, burying her ear against his shirt for a moment before she realized what she was doing and jerked back suddenly.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for the warning,” Ingrid began, but her retort was cut off by the sudden, jubilant cry of a wyvern, and she might have imagined it but the ground seemed to shake slightly Claude’s oversized wyvern bounded across the field towards them. Ingrid was no expert in wyvern care, but his enthusiastic gait and joyful screeches as he saw Claude were probably a good indication that he was uninjured and that he’d survived any bandit encounters unscathed, as Claude predicted. Ingrid had never been jealous of a wyvern before, but this was certainly a day for new and unwelcome experiences.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The wyvern came bounding up to Claude, stopping just short of crashing into them, and eagerly poked his nose down towards them. Ingrid flinched as smoky breath passed over her, and she realized the wyvern was sniffing her in friendly greeting, unconcerned by the occasional sparks that dropped down on them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey! Hey. Be polite,” Claude ordered, quickly swerving away from the wyvern to shield Ingrid from its inquisitive greeting. Her head spun wildly at the movement and she grabbed Claude’s arm more tightly, but the wyvern backed off. “That’s my handsome boy,” Claude cooed cheerfully, and Ingrid would have rolled her eyes if she hadn’t full well known she’d called Hermia the “prettiest buttercup warrior” just that morning.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve ridden a wyvern before, right?” he asked Ingrid.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Um,” Ingrid replied.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great,” said Claude. He turned back to his mount – Ingrid supposed she should probably learn his name – and said “Down,” in the same sharp, precise tone as before. The wyvern dropped low to the ground, and Claude swung Ingrid up into the saddle, following close behind. It was a different feeling than a pegasus, with the seat somehow both higher set and further forward than she was used to and her legs swung over to one side. She was pressed up against Claude in a way that would have made her feel secure is she hadn’t felt so deeply mortified, the rise and fall of his breath moving against her shoulder blades.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Mkay, here we go,” Claude said, evidently completely unaffected by the rise and fall of his breath, which seemed an unfair advantage. He clicked his tongue and the wyvern got to its feet, a shaky, rumbling process. “Hold on,” Claude added as the saddle pitched forward slightly under the newfound curvature of the wyvern’s spine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hold on to </span>
  <em>
    <span>where</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Ingrid demanded, neither reigns nor handholds in front of her.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hm,” Claude said. He swung an arm around her waist, pulling her back even closer against him. “Onto me, I guess?” he suggested, and the wyvern took to the sky before Ingrid could take issue. Ingrid loved the swoop of takeoff, had chased it her entire life, but the wyvern was once again an uncanny mirror of what she was used to, an upwards firework rather than a graceful leap.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid grabbed onto Claude’s forearm for balance, feeling the muscles twitch beneath her fingers. She was sure there was a proper way for wyvern riders to carry passengers, just as she had studied and demonstrated proper transport etiquette with theoretical precision before she was even allowed to sit for her for her falcon rider’s exam. She was also sure that Claude had never bothered to learn it, or had learned it and then immediately forgotten it.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll head straight to the capital; the scouting party will be fine without me,” Claude said, his voiced raised slightly as the wind whipped past them. “Shouldn’t be more than an hour.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ingrid twisted to look at him, the angle somehow even more awkward that it had been. “You can’t just leave your men! Aren’t you the leader of the scouting mission?” she asked in horror.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ll be fine,” Claude said, and Ingrid felt him shift against her in a shrug. “They’ve done this before.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“First your wyvern, then your battalion,” Ingrid said, and she was shouting over the wind, but maybe also shouting just because it was Claude. “Is there supervision you</span>
  <em>
    <span> actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> oversee as prince of this land?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I have an idea,” Claude said. “How about you take a nap and I’ll supervise you not falling off this wyvern? I’m sure you’re tired.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not tired,” said Ingrid, which was a lie. She was exhausted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That shrug again. “Well, it would be better than you yelling at me all the way back to the palace,” Claude said. “Actually, tuck your head in. Cichol likes to fly pretty close to the treeline sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You named your wyvern –” Ingrid started, but as the wyvern – Cichol, evidently – took an almost vertical dive towards the forest below them, she took Claude up on his advice, pressing her ear against him and squeezing her eyes shut. She took slight comfort that his heartbeat pounded more rapidly against her ear than she’d expected – perhaps Claude was a thrill seeker rather than simply an idiot with no regard for his life or hers. She lived for the dips and dives of flight, as well, but it was one thing to control a descent and another to be along for the ride. It was one thing to ride a pegasus and another to ride a wyvern. And it was one thing to be the star pegasus knight in the service to the crown of Faerghus, bringing an urgent message across the border with all due speed, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite </span>
  </em>
  <span>another thing to be Ingrid Galatea, stranded across unfamiliar borders, clinging to the world’s most irresponsible idiot and actually being stupid enough to find the sound of his heartbeat against her ear rather comforting.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid was positive her ankle was twisted. But that was the least of her worries at the moment.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ingrid's battle stats are based on my most recent Blue Lions runthrough where she just flew up to endgame boss Edelgard and sat their yawning while absolutely no one in the world could hit her. An absolute ledge.</p><p>Anyways! New fic. In my mind this is a three-shot, but I outlined chapter 2 this morning and uhhhhh . . . we might be looking at 4 chapters, I dunno. First time writing something longer than a couple thousand words outside of the Netteflix tag, so! Exciting. Hope you liked it. Please do not fact check me on literally anything, I never know what's going on but I like to think that's part of my charm.</p><p>I don't have a particular update schedule for this, but you know. Smash that subscribe button? How does Ao3 work. I dunno, give me a couple weeks and I'll see what I can do.</p><p>  <a href="https://twitter.com/Rose3Writes"> I'm on twitter! Come say hi. </a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Widening Gyre</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>7 Days</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>One week.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>One long, impossible week.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid sighed in frustration in tandem with Hermia, who gave a snort as Ingrid tugged at a knot in her mane.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve never agreed more,” Ingrid muttered to her, but focused her work more slowly. It wasn’t Hermia’s fault.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Seven whole days.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If the healer that saw her hadn’t seemed so generally displeased with Claude as an overall human being, Ingrid would have accused them both of conspiracy. Her ankle felt <em>fine</em> – or, as close to fine as she ever felt during the middle of the war. The healer, a short and sturdy woman with a long braid and an efficient manner, had chased Claude away from the infirmary as soon as he helped Ingrid to a bed, and spent the next hour poking and prodding at Ingrid, her healing magic and carefully applied salves making Ingrid feel almost human at the end of that hour. Ingrid didn’t speak much, feeling lightheaded, and the woman seemed to like that about her. Ingrid was prepared to declare this healer her closest friend in Almyra when she tied off the final bandage, looked her in the eye, and gave her the worst news possible.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Take a week to rest; ten days if you can,” she said briskly, as if that were a normal thing to ask of a soldier. “Travel could tear at the injury before it’s properly healed. Walks and light exercise are fine, but no long journeys.” She gave Ingrid an affectionate pat on the head. “If Khalid tries to hurry you along, send him to me and I’ll straighten him right out, dear. I’ll let him know in no uncertain terms that your rest is paramount.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She wandered away, muttering about irresponsible whelps who left their guests to fend for themselves in battle, and Ingrid lay back on the bed and squeezed her eyes shut, slowly counting down from ten and wondering if maybe death would take her and spare her the aggravation of a week under Claude’s thumb.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ten days if you can.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I cannot, Hermia, I cannot,” Ingrid said. Even if the Kingdom hadn’t been preparing for its most important battle of the war, even if she hadn’t had a literal army of soldiers depending on her return and her negotiations, even if she could have looked at Claude without her stomach doing backflips and her eye twitching at his sheer, impossible <em>arrogance</em> when he grinned at her – she couldn’t imagine taking up space, and resources, and attention from hosts that had not invited her and didn’t even know her, on a mission that was supposed to take a single afternoon. She couldn’t let the fragile relationship between Almyra and the increasingly unified Fódlan be damaged because she overstayed her welcome. She needed to get out of their hair.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, Ingrid! You’re up awful early.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And she needed certain people to stay out of hers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s ten in the morning, Claude,” Ingrid said, not looking around the stables as she heard him walk towards him. It was a large stable, evidently meant for injured wyverns, who couldn’t nest in the spacious fields adjacent to the palace. One lone wyvern was tucked away in the corner, nursing an injured snout, blowing sad puffs of smoke every so often as it raised its head before returning to its nap. The stalls were equally, eerily spacious – Hermia took up less than half the space of the stall; Ingrid easily could have camped out with her pegasus for the week and been more comfortable than half the tents she’d slept in over the years.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude’s footsteps moved from echoing to intimate, and when Ingrid finally tore her eyes away from brushing Hermia’s mane, she took a step back at the realization that he was standing right next to her. Hermia bared her teeth in a snarl, and Claude took the hint, taking his own step away from the stall door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nine forty-five in the morning,” he corrected easily. “And regardless, Maya’s treatments always knock me out, and she said she had to do a real number on you. I assumed you’d be out until at least noon.” He tilted his head, sweeping his eyes over her the way he studied enemies and allies alike, and from the way a small frown flickered over his face, Ingrid wondered if he didn’t like what he saw. “Is your room not comfortable? We can find a new one,” was all he said, whatever his evaluations were.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The room is fine, Claude,” Ingrid said. It was the nicest room she had ever stayed in. It was so nice that Ingrid had tried to tell the servant who brought her there, easily leading her from the infirmary to the guest chambers, that there must have been some mistake. She had sunk into unconsciousness before her head had even hit the pillows, and woken up to discover an array of fresh clothes and a breakfast tray waiting outside her door. She realized “fine” probably didn’t cover this, so she added, “I just don’t sleep in very late.” That also didn’t seem to cover much, so she changed the subject.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You talked to Maya, then?” she asked, assuming Maya was the name of the healer she was temporarily so close to, and so utterly betrayed by.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude didn’t have to answer, not following the wide, amused grin he gave her, but he answered anyways. “I did indeed. Ten days, did she say? Just to be safe?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“She told me a week,” Ingrid said crisply, picking up a curry comb and returning her attention to brushing down Hermia.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“She was <em>very</em> clear to me that I would be a failure of a leader and a host if I sent you away before a fortnight had passed,” Claude said. “I couldn’t stand to have her think less of me, you know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is that possible?” Ingrid asked, genuinely curious.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude paused, thrown off by the question. “Probably not, actually,” he admitted after a beat. “I show up at her proverbial doorstep with a <em>lot</em> of injuries. She thinks I’m reckless.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thinks?” Ingrid muttered to herself, looking away from Claude as she did so.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He still caught it. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he said, his voice caught somewhere between playful and accusing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve been thinking about yesterday’s battle,” Ingrid said. “Specifically, you flying in to yesterday’s battle.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, that was pretty fun,” Claude said, and when Ingrid snuck a glance his way, he was staring off into the middle distance. “I know you were kind of tumbling around on the ground but you should have seen those guys run,” he added, and now she knew what he was picturing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You shot their leader with three arrows to the neck,” Ingrid said, although she was sure Claude didn’t need the reminder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So I did,” he said. “In my defense, he wasn’t being very nice to you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How far away were you when you made that first shot?” Ingrid asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude shrugged. “I dunno, pretty far,” he said. “I couldn't have made it with my eyes closed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid shot him a sharp glance. “Do you attempt many shots with your eyes closed?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If I’m bored.” Claude’s eyes glinted down at her and she broke eye contact with a scoff.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You should have waited until you were in close range,” she said, turning her eyes back to Hermia, who gave Claude an indignant whinny. The perfect backup.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I didn’t want to wait,” Claude said. “I wanted to shoot him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid nearly dropped the curry comb in as she whirled back to face Claude. “That has to be the most <em>childish</em>, petulant reason I’ve ever heard in my –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, calm down,” said Claude, his hands out in a conciliatory gesture that only served to make Ingrid angrier. “It worked out in your favor, didn’t it? Those guys were getting a little too close for comfort.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You could’ve <em>hit me</em>, Claude.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ah! But I didn’t,” Claude said, tapping his index finger against Ingrid’s nose. “That’s the important part of this conversation, I think.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Watch yourself, <em>sir</em>,” Ingrid said, jerking away from him. “Hermia’s not the only one who can bite.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>From the way Claude smiled in response to this, Ingrid was afraid it wasn’t the scathing retaliation she had hoped for. But he dropped his hand, even if he smirked as he did so. “So,” he said, leaning forward slightly to angle his gaze down towards her. “Ten days?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A week,” Ingrid said. “I agreed to follow healer’s orders. I never said I had to take the extra recommendations.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude grinned at her in a way that made her feel like she’d lost the argument instead of winning it, although she had conceded very little ground. “Well then,” he said. “If you’re here for such a short amount of time, I suppose we had better schedule you for a negotiation meeting with the prince of Almyra pretty quickly here, wouldn’t you say?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The prince of Almyra being  . . . you?” Ingrid clarified.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude waggled his eyebrows at her, and she rolled her eyes in response.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If I’m standing next to the <em>prince of Almyra</em>,” Ingrid said, unable to keep the sarcastic emphasis out of her voice. “Can we just do this now? Will you honor the peace treaties at the Alliance border and guarantee us safe –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Woah woah woah, Dame Ingrid of the Faerghus Knights,” Claude said, holding up his hands mockingly. “Slow down there. I can’t just give you an answer off the top of my head. We have to <em>discuss</em> things.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not a knight yet,” Ingrid mumbled. “And it’s a yes or no answer, Claude.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You deserve my undivided attention, Ingrid – and you shall have it!” Claude said cheerfully, looking down at her as if he was paying her a compliment and not expressly annoying her. “I tragically can’t do today, or tomorrow – council meetings all morning, scouting missions all afternoon! But the day after tomorrow? Right after breakfast? I’ll schedule us for three hours.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The conversation will take thirty seconds –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fine! Four. But I can’t give you any more than that, Ingrid, my father’s advisors are constantly impressing on me how important it is that I attend all these long morning meetings; I’m already going to be missing so many just to meet with you and discuss this treaty.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid glared at him. “You can’t use me as an excuse to get out of your royal duties, Claude,” she snapped at him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Five hours then!” Claude interrupted loudly, although there was no one to overhear them beyond Hermia and the sleeping wyvern. “But I must insist that we take a break for lunch.” He leaned on the stable door, looming over Ingrid. “I’ll take you into the city – we have some <em>delightful </em>food carts that I think you’ll really –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Khalid! Prince Khalid! We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude straightened up and turned towards the voice. A fussy-looking middle-aged man was walking towards them into the stables. He gave the sick wyvern a wider berth than was strictly necessary, and Ingrid recognized the telltale signs of someone who was uncomfortable around animals. He reminded her a bit of Seteth. That might have been his rather elaborate robes rather than his demeanor, but he distinctly struck Ingrid as fussy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ah, Hetzel,” said Claude, sounding extremely disappointed. “Just the man . . . I wanted to see.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We’re starting the trade council in ten minutes, your highness,” the man – Hetzel – said. He wasn’t much taller than Claude, but he seemed to look down his nose at him regardless. “I’ve been sent to make sure you’ll be there to lead the proceedings.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course, Hetzel, I can’t wait,” Claude said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve just been talking to our guest from Fódlan – may I present Dame Ingrid Galatea? She’s a knight from the realm of Faerghus, staying with us for the next two weeks to negotiate a peace treaty along the western border. Ingrid, this is Hetzel, the chief trade advisor to my father.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hetzel gave her a thin smile, and turned back to Claude. “Shall we head to the meeting room, then?” he asked, and at this point his smile didn’t even meet his face, let alone his eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You go on ahead, Hetzel,” Claude said. “I’ll catch up.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He turned back to Ingrid before the man could protest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“One week,” she corrected him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My mistake,” he said easily.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not a knight,” she added.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He frowned at this. “Dimitri’s mistake,” he said. “You’ll be a good one.” Before she had a chance to reply, Claude looked over his shoulder at Hetzel’s retreating form and sighed. “I do have to go, you know,” he said. “I’ll see you at dinner? If you want to write a letter to Dimitri yourself, I can send it with a messenger tonight.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid nodded, still thrown off by his strange flash of sincerity, but she gathered her wits enough to call after him as he walked away. “Claude?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He turned and raised an eyebrow. “Miss me already?” he asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She ignored this. “Is there anything I can, um – can I do anything, while I’m here?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude frowned again, more thoughtful this time. “We have some lovely gardens at the east side of the castle that are in bloom this year,” he said thoughtfully. “And you should visit the wyvern field, if you’re brave, which you are. I’d say walk into the city, but maybe wait for me for that, it’s easy to get lost. If you get lost here, you can just ask anyone where to go – I’m sure by now the rumors of ‘Khalid’s guest from Fódlan’ have reached every rank and file member of our court.” He rolled his eyes as he said this, but didn’t look as aggravated as his words implied. Ingrid imagined he liked having another rumor about him to add to his collection.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Still, she was getting off track. Ingrid shook her head. “That’s not what I meant, Claude,” she said. “I mean, do you need any help? I could go to the training grounds, or if you need someone on kitchen duty – or did you say you had a scouting mission this afternoon?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude took a step back towards her. “You’re asking me to put you to work? I thought Maya told you to rest for a fortnight?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A week,” Ingrid corrected automatically. “And I can’t just sit around doing <em>nothing</em> all week –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You absolutely can,” Claude replied, cutting her off. “And you should. How many times do I have to say you’re a guest here, Ingird? It’s frankly incredibly rude of you to imply otherwise. Unspeakably rude.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid could feel her cheeks flushing with embarrassment even as she realized that Claude was barely suppressing a grin as he said this. He could joke about faux pas and social stumbles as much as he wanted; there wasn’t much she could do to hurt his country’s political standings across the continent. But Ingrid was painfully aware that she had inadvertently become responsible for keeping Fódlan in Almyra’s good graces, and it all depended on her being nice to a man she couldn’t go five minutes without yelling at.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can’t just joke about things like that,” she tried to protest, but Claude was already walking away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Enjoy the gardens, Ingrid!” he called without looking back. “I’ll see you at dinner.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid considered throwing her curry comb at him, but it wasn’t worth the future of her country, and anyways, he was already pretty far away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>5 Days</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude brought a map to the meeting. A world map, but not one like Ingrid had ever seen. Almyra was in the center, and there were detailed lines showing the rivers and mountain ranges and even whole oceans that Ingrid had never heard of before. Fódlan, in contrast, was a hazily-rendered mass. Galatea didn’t even register, and Claude had extended the map with extra paper in order to have more space for the coastline near Enbarr. Still, it was a beautifully made map, glossy and detailed, and Ingrid guessed it was Claude’s personal favorite.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’d brought tiny figurines with him, as well, which Ingrid suspected had belonged to a chess set or some other strategy game in some former life. Ingrid slowly picked up a figurine he had placed near Enbarr – a female knight with an outstretched sword and a permanent scowl – and placed it back on the map. Claude nudged it a few centimeters to the left and looked up at Ingrid with a pleased, expectant look on his face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid scowled. “When I told you Dimitri’s message on that hill, I was actually stupid enough to think you were listening,” she snapped.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude’s face fell, and Ingrid almost pitied him. “I was listening!” he protested. “I can listen and worry about you at the same time.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Claude,” Ingrid said, pressing two fingers against the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes. “I’m just here to confirm that Almyra will honor the existing border agreement for the time it takes to take Enbarr. A yes or no answer. And you give me all of <em>this </em>in reply.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude frowned, looking at the map. “I guess I’ll admit we would be bringing quite a lot of troops over the border,” he muttered, almost to himself. He looked back up at Ingrid. “I just thought it would be more fun!” he added brightly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fun?” Ingrid repeated, incredulous. “Claude, you’ve spent the last hour laying out a battle plan. This isn’t a game; you’re committing soldiers’ lives to this battle. Your soldiers, Claude. There’s nothing fun about joining a war.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay, well, maybe ‘fun’ was the wrong word,” Claude said, and he almost sounded sheepish. “‘<em>Worthwhile</em>, maybe. Or <em>high-concept</em>. Do you like any of those better?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid glared at him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m offering your army two battalions and I'm offering to lead them into battle personally,” Claude said, leaning forward. “Don’t you want to win?” he added slyly. Ingrid could have sworn he winked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course I want to win. I want this war to be over more than I’ve wanted anything in my whole life,” Ingrid said darkly. She narrowed her eyes at Claude. “What do you get out of this?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude cocked an eyebrow. “What makes you think I ‘get’ something out of it? Isn’t the chance to defeat the Empire reward enough? I doubt they’ll make good neighbors if they win; Emperor Edelgard’s a little bit too into the Unprovoked Invasion life for my liking.” Claude’s smile was charming, which set Ingrid more on edge. “Besides, I want to help my Alliance and Kingdom friends! We go back a long ways, Ingrid.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How terribly altruistic of you, Claude,” Ingrid muttered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ingrid, light of my life, you radiate skepticism,” Claude said, a melodramatic lament in his voice. He leaned over on the table towards her, knocking several wyvern figurines and an emperor out of the way as he did so.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid leaned back reflexively. “That’s because I’m skeptical,” she said. “You don’t do things just to be nice, Claude. What do you want in return?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Isn’t the chance to help my friends reward enough?” Claude asked, his eyes enormous and innocent.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” Ingrid replied.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, then,” Claude said. He leaned back again, not bothering to straighten the figurines this time. The miniature emperor lolled uselessly on the map. “Should we go get lunch?” he asked, clasping his arms over his head in a lazy stretch.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid blinked at him. “We had breakfast, like, an hour ago,” she pointed out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well technically, <em>Claude</em> had had breakfast like an hour ago. Ingrid had woken up at six that morning and found a tray of fruit and pastries and tea waiting outside her door again. She wasn’t sure who brought it or how they knew she’d be up, but the tea was still hot, and she ate the entire spread while writing a letter to Ashe, doing her best to describe Almyra in as much detail as possible so she could remember it all when she got back to Fódlan. She’d then taken Hermia for a walk around the castle grounds (she was still worried about her wings and didn’t want to risk flying yet) and lost track of time, and she had to rush to the small side meeting room Claude had pointed out to her the day before. Claude still arrived fifteen minutes after her, clutching his map under one arm and a pastry in the other hand. Ingrid had eyed his breakfast enviously, but declined when he offered her a bite.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude shrugged, interrupting a side stretch. “It’ll take some time to walk into the city, so we’d better start now. Especially since I’m sure we’ll have to go slow because you can barely walk these days,” he said, absolutely no distress in his tone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid rolled her eyes. “If you’re so concerned about my health and well-being, couldn’t we ride into town?” she asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s a great idea,” Claude agreed. “The thing is, I really don’t want people to know I'm leaving. If everyone just thinks we’re here having a meeting, that would be great.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m starting to think you dragged me to the palace just to have an excuse to get out of meetings, Claude,” Ingrid said, and she was only partially joking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You were also losing a lot of blood,” Claude pointed out cheerfully. “But there are benefits to having you around, I don’t mind admitting that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sure, if it works on you,” Claude said. He pushed his chair back, causing the table to wobble and send more figurines scattering across the map. “Either way, I’m buying, so if you want to see the city, now’s the perfect chance,” he said, and Ingrid was certain he winked this time, but he was walking away before she could scowl at him properly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid turned back to the table and set the knight upright on the map. Claude had placed her directly in the heart of Enbarr so it was easy to find where she belonged. She left the other pieces where they lay as she followed after Claude.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The road leading from the castle to the city was wide and paved, gently sloping downward. It made for a pleasant walk, although Claude warned Ingrid the slope was just enough to make the return home annoying. Claude talked of bright, useless things and Ingrid took automatic contrarian positions towards them, and it was almost pleasant, or at least, it was almost familiar. Ingrid would hate to admit she had missed meaningless conversations with Claude.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid tried not to gape when they arrived at the edge of the city, a bustling marketplace off the main road that made for easy access for travelers and traders alike. She wasn’t one for crowded spaces, on the whole. A battlefield was one thing, but Ingrid always felt overwhelmed by a social crowd, whether that was shopping or diplomatic events. It was enough that she didn’t jerk away when Claude would grab her hand to pull her down another street or to keep her from getting lost in the crowd, although she gave him a stern glare when he held her wrist longer than strictly necessary after a particularly large family almost separated them. Still, the market piqued her interest, and she was glad to not have to be paying too close attention to navigation as they walked past stalls and shopfronts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What do you think?” Claude asked her over his shoulder as they walked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Everything is so,” Ingrid said, and paused, trying to think of the word. “Permanent.” She finally landed on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was true. With the exception of a blacksmith, merchants in Garreg Mach seemed to come and go easily. No one seemed to belong in the Garreg Mach marketplace. But these stalls were built to last, and the shopkeepers chatted with the customers like old friends. Some food stalls didn’t even have menus or signs, or their signs had faded away to practically nothing, and they still drew huge crowds.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s right, I sometimes forget you grew up so far north,” Claude said, waiting for Ingrid to step in line with him and then casually taking her elbow to steer her down an alley. “I’m sure markets up near Fhirdiad are seasonal, but in general, Almyra is temperate enough that we can stay open year round. It makes it a bit easier to find what you’re looking for!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And what are we looking for?” Ingrid asked, nervously looking over her shoulder. The sound of people was receding in the background, and the alley was a dead end.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Food,” said Claude, and he opened a door that she hadn’t noticed was there and pushed her through it before she could protest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a tiny space, barely enough room for a handful of tables and matching chairs. One lone window was at the back of the room, and leaning to peer out of it, Ingrid saw it faced directly into another wall. Candles dotted the tables but didn’t quite add as much light as Ingrid would have liked, and the entire room seemed plunged into a cozy, permanent dusk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid jumped as Claude slammed the door shut behind them, and a young man poked his head out from the door across from them – the one that Ingrid assumed led into the kitchens. He couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than them, and he was startlingly handsome, with long curly hair that he kept pinned back from his face and absurdly long eyelashes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Khalid? Do my eyes deceive me?” he said, excitedly walking forward. “I usually have to wait for a weekend for you to stumble in here – and with such a lovely companion, at that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Afternoon, Tobin,” Claude said, reaching around Ingrid to shake the man’s hand before he could get too close to either of them. “This is Ingrid, <em>esteemed guest</em> of the Royal Family. I promised her the best food in Almyra, so I hope you have a table open.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tobin gestured at the empty restaurant. “Anywhere you’d like; lunch rush isn’t for an hour. And how often do I get to cook for a foreign princess?” With this, he winked at Ingrid, but Claude was pulling her to the one table by the window before she could protest that she was nothing of the sort. It was the only table for two in the place, tucked away in the corner as much as such a thing was possible, and Ingrid pulled her feet back quickly as she knocked against Claude as he sat down across from her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You want menus, or. . ?” Tobin trailed off as he followed after them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Whatever’s good today,” said Claude. “Just bring a lot of it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Perfect,” the man gave Ingrid another wildly handsome smile before turning around.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A <em>lot</em> of it,” Claude called after him, and Ingrid was tempted to kick him under the table, but kept her ankles firmly crossed and tucked under her chair.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Khalid,” Ingrid murmured to herself, looking off at Tobin as he disappeared through the kitchen doors.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes?” Claude asked, resting his chin in his hands and leaning forward, smiling at her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dimitri told me before I left that Khalid was – the name you go by, here,” Ingrid said, scooting her chair slightly away from him. “I guess I would’ve looked quite foolish if I arrived on your doorstep demanding an audience with Prince Claude.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, it’s not the name I go by, it’s just, you know. My name.” Claude took a vase of water from the side of the table and poured it into the two glasses resting beside it, sliding a glass across to Ingrid. “Claude was a lot more simple in Fódlan, mind you – easier to blend in. You want that sometimes.” He looked up, eyes sparkling mischievously, as if he was daring Ingrid to point out that he never blended in, or intended to, during his time at Garreg Mach.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you want me to switch?” Ingrid asked instead. “Your name, I mean.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If you’d like,” Claude said with a smile. “It might help <em>you</em> blend in around <em>here</em>, you know. But I don’t mind Claude. It’s kind of nostalgic, hearing you say it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I certainly yelled it enough at school, I’ll grant you that,” Ingrid muttered darkly. And he’d certainly spent half the time pretending he didn’t hear her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So you did,” Claude said, that dreamy, faraway smile that he got when he was thinking about two things at once flashing across his face again. “Strange, the things we miss.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid was saved having to respond to this by Tobin emerging from the back room with soup and salad and bread, which he somehow managed to balance without a tray or even much trouble. Ingrid hadn’t realized how hungry she was until there was soup in front of her, and she managed to eat half the bowl before she realized how much she liked it. She tried to pace herself after that, and looked up at Claude in hopes he would find a new direction for the conversation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He did. Nudging the bread basket closer to her, Claude picked up his own soup spoon and casually remarked, “So, when do <em>I</em> get to switch to calling you Dame Galatea?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid frowned. As if she knew. “After the war, I guess. It’s not really something I'm bringing up on a daily basis, you know. His majesty has more on his mind than thinking about me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude’s eyebrows raised in a way Ingrid couldn’t quite interpret, but he calmly broke a piece of bread in half and dipped it in his soup, and his expression was quite blank when he next spoke. “So that’s what you want, after the war?” he asked. “To be a knight? To keep fighting?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course that’s what I want, that’s what I’ve always wanted,” Ingrid said, a little too quickly and a little too eagerly, so that she jostled the table slightly as she leaned forward. It had uneven legs. She stopped herself, taking a breath and staring back at her soup. “To protect people – to be part of something bigger than myself or my family or my little world. I don’t know, maybe I read too many storybooks growing up.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You say it like it’s some unrealistic dream,” Claude said. His eyes crinkled in amusement. “You’re an absolute terror on the battlefield, Ingrid. I can’t imagine a king being too stupid to notice that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, sometimes your own little world takes over more than you want it to,” Ingrid muttered. Her father still hoped she would make a good match. He couldn’t quite decide if her being a war hero made her marketable or distasteful, and his letters veered wildly between the two poles. She stuffed half a bread roll in her mouth and tried not to think about it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> “Say, Ingrid,” Claude said before she’d managed to completely finish the bite. She looked up at him, trying to hide her inevitable chipmunk cheeks behind her hand. Claude tilted his head to the side and paused, taking more care with his words than Ingrid was used to. “When you say being a knight is all you’ve ever wanted, do you specifically mean –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I made what I considered ‘a lot’ of food, and then I added two more dishes,” Tobin said, and Ingrid wasn’t sure how he’d managed to materialize before them so silently, given how loudly the dishes clanked as he set them against the table. Ingrid’s eyes widened at the array of meat dishes appearing on the table before her. Some of them were the standard meat skewers and roasted vegetables she’d grown up eating, some of them she recognized as common to eastern Alliance territories, some of them Ingrid had never seen in her life.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She wanted to eat all of them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Whatever question Claude had been going to ask her was lost as Tobin cleared their soup bowls and set large plates in front of them. They spent the next hour or so contentedly focused on the food in front of them, as Claude explained the different names of the dishes and the proper pairings for different meats and sides. Ingrid liked his attempts to identify spice combinations and elaborate stories from his childhood centered around particular meals almost as much as she liked the food. But she still liked the food best.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When the meal was done, Claude stood at the counter and spoke in a low voice to Tobin, and Ingrid stared at her boots, trying to pretend she didn’t notice that he was paying for their meal, which of course he was. She’d halfway vowed to raid her emergency funds and pay him back when Claude’s hand was on her elbow and he was pulling her out the door after him. Tobin smiled at her as she turned to wave goodbye, and Ingrid realized she’d never had the chance to tell him she wasn’t actually a princess.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think I’ve figured out why you’re so eager to supply troops to the Kingdom,” Ingrid said as they made their way out of the crowded town square and up the hill leading to the palace.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Diplomatic genius,” Claude said, stretching his arms over his head lazily. He had offered to show Ingrid more of the marketplace but Ingrid had pointedly noted he undoubtedly had afternoon obligations. Now she was beginning to think he would just find a way to take a nap. For now, he turned his head and gave her a smile that showed all of his teeth. “Let’s hear your theory, then.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“King Dimitri is in a precarious position right now. Not one to refuse help where he can get it. Not one to negotiate when he can accept,” Ingrid said, trying to keep her breath steady. Claude was right, the slight incline was annoying after a while. He was <em>not</em> right about her ankle needing rest, however, so she would prefer he didn’t know that she was already getting winded.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Never one to mince words, Miss Galatea,” Claude agreed cheerfully. “I’d give you a 40-60 chance of winning without additional help.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“With the Sword of the Creator and both the Alliance and the Kingdom forces? I thought you were a master tactician,” Ingrid scoffed. “But regardless, I think we can agree that the Kingdom’s position will be much stronger once we’ve conquered Enbarr.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Remarkably so,” Claude said. “I hope your ruler is benevolent.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You hope our ruler is in your debt, is what you hope,” Ingrid snapped, looking over at Claude sharply. “Why drive a hard bargain later when you can collect goodwill now? Two battalions is nothing if it finds you favor with the King.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I make my offer freely, Ingrid, I told you that.” Claude didn’t look at Ingrid, but stared ahead at the palace, which was coming into view. “I don’t expect any repayment for my generosity.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dimitri won’t see it that way,” Ingrid muttered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude looked at her now, a sly grin spreading across his face. “No, he won’t,” he agreed. “But don’t you want to win?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid frowned. By every metric Claude was offering her a resounding success on her mission, but she couldn’t help but feel that he was emerging with the upper hand, somehow. And yet, she couldn’t turn down an offer of troops. Their spy networks out of the Adestrian Empire implied tremendous amounts of hidden power.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I will relay your offer to King Dimitri, and send word of his reply as soon as possible,” she said finally. “I suggest you ready your troops, as I have no doubt that he will accept, no matter how hard I emphasize your underhanded and untrustworthy nature.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re a delight, Ingrid, I hope you know that,” Claude, bumping a shoulder against hers lightly. “I hope Dimitri entrusts you with all future negotiation; we really make an excellent team.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“As your reply requires a more complicated exchange, I suppose I had better leave tomorrow,” Ingrid said. She’d wavered slightly when Claude knocked into her, stumbling as pain shot through her foot, but he didn’t seem to notice. She continued, “I’ll be sure to tell King Dimitri that time is of the essence for his –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ah ah, you’re not fooling me that easily,” Claude said, waving a finger ahead of him with annoying smugness. “Our deal is still our deal. You have five more days here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Four and a half,” Ingrid corrected quickly. “And I think giving the changing circumstances we should really consider –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude reached out and pushed Ingrid’s shoulder – lightly, but with enough force to knock her off balance again. He grabbed her elbow and pulled her into him as she flailed to the left, but a sharp hiss escaped her lips as she placed too much weight on her ankle once more. She shot him a glare, which he didn’t seem to notice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Trouble walking, Miss Galatea?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you favoring your good leg.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s a dirty trick, Claude,” Ingrid groused. “My leg is perfectly fine when idiots and cads aren’t pushing me around.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ingrid, you’ve spent most of your life not letting idiots and cads push you around,” Claude said, rolling his eyes. “Just admit your ankle still needs to heal.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid frowned and looked away. “A deal is a deal. But don’t complain to me if Dimitri rejects your offer and you spent all that time preparing your troops for nothing.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll risk it,” Claude replied, his voice soft and just above her ear. “Now, if I offer my arm to an esteemed lady and future knight of Faerghus, will she take it as a gesture of goodwill or as an underhanded attempt to place her in my debt? Hypothetically. Keep in mind she can barely walk, in this scenario.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid rolled her eyes. The worst part was, Claude’s arm around hers really did make walking easier, taking just enough pressure off her leg to make it bearable. “You won’t guilt me into treating you nicely, Prince Khalid of Almyra,” she said sharply. “Offer me whatever you want.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“As long as we know where we stand,” Claude smiled, adjusting his arm around her to give her more support. “And as long as you can stand,” he added after a few steps.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid grimaced. “Can we agree on no clever wordplay for the next four days, at least? For my own sanity?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Five days,” Claude said automatically. “And that would take another round of negotiations. If you’re free tomorrow morning?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid tried to elbow him, but he dodged her easily. By the time the road flattened and the castle loomed above them, his arm was almost comfortable.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At least, that’s what she told herself, when he left her at the door of her guest chambers, and her arm ached with something like longing as she watched him walk away.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I bet you thought I forgot about this fic! Joke's on you, I am just, in fact, a complete and total disaster. I dunno, I think once every three months might be a good update schedule for me. Trying it out, seeing what it's like.</p>
<p>Honestly I can't imagine writing an Ingrid fic that didn't somehow involve her love interest buying her snacks and gazing at her adoringly while she eats them all. It just feels right.</p>
<p>The full week was supposed to be one chapter but then it got long so now it's two chapters! So we'll do 3 Days Left and 1 Day Left for the next chapter, and then we'll see for the finale. Suspense suspense. I hope you are riveted. </p>
<p>Okay thanks for reading; let me know your thoughts; see you in November or whatever!</p>
<p>  <a href="https://twitter.com/Rose3Writes"> Obligatory twitter link if you want to find my other stuff!</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Surely Some Revelation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>3 Days</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>My dearest friend,</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>First let me say how grateful I am to hear of your safety. Had serious harm come to you during a mission I sent you on, I never would have forgiven myself. I feared the worst when Almyra’s messenger arrived at our doorstep in your place, but I cannot express my relief and comfort to hear that Claude remains a steadfast ally to our Kingdom and a faithful friend to you, even in these uncertain times.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I realize the message you travel with is a crucial one, and there is no one I trust on the Kingdom’s behalf more than you, Ingrid. I have no doubt you will manage to secure our eastern border and confirm existing treaties, however tenuous they may be at the moment. But I implore you to not put yourself in harm’s way and to take adequate time to rest and heal. Claude has sent a full account of the attack and your injuries, and he has promised to provide any messengers you will need until you have healed enough to travel once more. Do not devalue your own well-being, Ingrid. The Kingdom depends on you too much for you to rush back at the cost of your own personal health.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Give my regards to Claude, when you see him next – although I suppose if I know Claude, he’s already read this correspondence before passing it on to you, and he thinks I wouldn’t suspect him of such underhanded tactics. I look forward to our reunion, but as your king and commander, I order you to rest until such a reunion is possible.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>With highest regards,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Dimitri</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Ingrid folded the letter with a sigh, then immediately unfolded it and smoothed it out to read again. She repeated her sigh and didn’t bother refolding it as she cast it across the desk in the study nook in the corner of her guest room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dimitri meant only kindness, of course. She was thankful she had been able to watch him take his throne knowing that he would be a leader who meant kindness to his people. But he couldn’t prioritize her safety over the good of the Kingdom. He couldn’t be protective of his own knights.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A small voice in her head reminded her that she was not, in fact, a knight, and Dimitri could do what he wanted. She crumpled up the thought and mentally threw it in the corner with the letter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was certain that Claude had represented their encounter and her injuries in the most dramatic terms possible, no doubt for the sole motivation of providing him personal amusement. But even if Claude stretched the truth and even if Dimitri worried, very little could stop her from leaving in three days. She wouldn’t waste Claude’s ink or risk his prying eyes by replying to Dimitri’s letter, especially since she’d already sent him a flurry of letters updating him on Claude’s proposed negotiations and assuring him that she was perfectly safe and practically healed. She could set the record straight, fully, when she returned to Garreg Mach.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now she just had to wait out the days until she could return to Garreg Mach.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid flopped backwards on her bed and made a mental list of useful things she could do with her day. At this point Hermia was probably suffering from too much poking and prodding from an overbearing rider, although Ingrid could probably get away with another walk around the grounds later that afternoon. She could walk the grounds herself this morning, but she’d managed a morning walk every day since she’d been there, and she could hardly call it a productive use of her time. She’d ingratiated herself with the stablemaster long enough to help care for the wyverns for an hour the day before, but Claude had caught her and chased her away with such annoyance that she was a bit embarrassed to show her face again. She briefly thought about making her way down to the training grounds and polishing any weapons that looked worn-down, and to simply tell anyone who asked that she was preparing to train. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or . . . she could actually train.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid stopped bouncing her heels against the edge of the bed and clutched the sheets a little tighter. She’d never tell Claude – and she’d definitely never tell Dimitri – but she knew her injury wasn’t fully healed. Claude had taken her on a comprehensive tour of the castle only yesterday, and in the final hour she could feel her limp growing more pronounced, and that was just from walking. Making the injury worse would just give Claude an excuse to insist she stay longer. He certainly reveled in the excuse to offer her his arm, time and again on the tour, until it became easier to tolerate his smug grin than to try to stumble up the steps to her room on her own.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But still. Maya had said light exercise was fine. It wasn’t like she was planning to enter a tournament of five rounds against Felix. She could work on archery. She could work on perfecting form. She hadn’t been on the training ground in almost a week – surely even a little practice would ensure she was sharp when she returned to Fódlan.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And Claude wouldn’t have to find out. He’d specifically apologized that he wouldn’t be able to join her for breakfast – as if he had ever been awake when she was eating breakfast – due to some meetings that morning that he assured her were remarkably important. Ingrid smiled to herself as she remembered this. It sealed her decision – Claude spent so much time reveling in embarrassing her that there was a strange sort of delight in doing something she knew would annoy him, but that she also knew he would never find out about.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wasn’t the perfect scheme. But it was a plan. And, happy to finally have one, Ingrid swung her legs over the side of the bed, ignored the faint twinge of pain as she hit the floor a little too eagerly, and set out for the training grounds.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Ingrid had learned her way out of the castle by now, and from there, it was easy to route towards the training groups, which Claude had vaguely pointed out to her on his tour of the grounds. It was a gorgeous day out, sunny and clear, and Ingrid smiled to herself as she walked to the training grounds. If she put Dimitri’s letter out of her head and didn’t focus on all the smug grins Claude had been shooting her all week, she could practically pretend this was a pleasant trip. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey! Ingrid!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid looked over her shoulder to see Claude jogging towards her – well, something like jogging, an exaggerated half-jog that approximated effort but didn’t actually increase his speed at all. The group of advisors he had been walking with looked after him, mixtures of curiosity and annoyance on their faces.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Good afternoon, Claude,” Ingrid replied pleasantly. “Using me to get out of going to some important meeting?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Such little faith in me,” Claude said with a smirk, and Ingrid was certain she was at least partially right. “I’ve <em>been</em> in unpleasant meetings all morning. I’m using you to get out of going to lunch with those guys. Where are you off to?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Training grounds,” Ingrid said, trying to keep her voice casual, as if this was a perfectly normal decision. It didn’t work.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude’s eyebrows shot up so far they almost disappeared into his swept-back bangs, which were tousled just enough that he looked as if he had been doing important things but not quite so much that they messed up his perfect hairstyle. Ingrid wondered which of them spent more time in front of the mirror that morning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I thought the goal was for you to keep your weight off your ankle, Ingrid,” he said skeptically, and Ingrid inwardly groaned that he picked today to suddenly start following rules.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Walking and light exercise permitted,” Ingrid said, the picture of practicality – following rules was her specialty, after all. “I’ll be fine. Honestly, I could definitely travel today; my ankle barely hurts anymore.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not our deal,” Claude said, his subtle smirk growing to a full blown smile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Smug</em>, thought Ingrid, but she kept walking towards the training grounds – and he kept pace with her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where are you off to, now that you’ve successfully avoided responsibility?” she asked him, eager to get the conversation off of her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I was thinking I’d go take a nap,” Claude said, stretching his hands over his head lazily.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid stopped dead in her tracks. “Claude!” she exclaimed. “It’s three o’clock in the afternoon!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude slid his eyes over to her, arching an eyebrow again, his arms still caught midstretch as his hands caught at his elbows. “Yeah, so? I’m not going to take a nap at midnight, Ingrid, that’s just sleeping.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You haven’t changed at <em>all</em> since the academy,” Ingrid huffed. “You skip out on meetings –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I didn’t skip! It’s been going since ten in the morning!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You use <em>me</em> as an excuse to avoid your work,” Ingrid continued. “And then you want to go and laze the afternoon away? Impossible!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just the word I was thinking of,” Claude muttered under his breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid ignored this, turning to face him directly, grabbing onto his arm. “Spar with me,” she said. It wasn’t a suggestion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude stared at her, open-mouthed. “Really, Ingrid?” he said, not bothering to hide his surprise. “That’s your idea of recovering from injury, is to challenge the crown prince of Almyra to –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The crown prince of slovenliness,” Ingrid retorted. “If you’re as good as you say, then you won’t have any trouble winning, now will you? But I personally think you need my bad ankle to stand a chance.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ah, so you admit your ankle’s bad?” Claude said, and it was Ingrid’s turn to be speechless, although she manifested it with more of a glare than a look of surprise. But shockingly, he pulled her arm forward, guiding her towards the training grounds as he began to walk in the direction. “Let’s get this over with, then,” he said. “The faster I win, the longer my afternoon nap can be.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid shook his arm away lest he think she was looking for an escort, and followed after him to the training grounds.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The training grounds were mostly empty at this time of day; many soldiers undoubtedly on missions and patrols of their own. Claude marched confidently back to where the practice weapons were stored, lined against the back wall of the grounds, and the two soldiers who had been sparring in a corner of the grounds subtly put down their axes and wandered towards the exit; conceding the space when they saw him. Ingrid hung back, suddenly self-conscious. She had meant to find a quiet corner to get some basic lance or archery practice in; she felt suddenly rude for interrupting someone else’s space. But one of the women gave her a wide, pleasant smile as they left the grounds, even if neither spoke to her. Before Ingrid had a chance to follow after and – what? apologize? ask if they wanted her to come back later? tell them not to concede anything for Claude’s sake? – Claude was returning to her, two practice swords in hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Swords?” said Ingrid, taking the proffered weapon from Claude.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, it’s too small a space to make arrows fair,” Claude said, giving his own sword a practice swing. “And I’d have weapon advantage if I used an axe. So I figure – even the playing field.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Too scared to face me with a lance?” Ingrid asked, switching the sword between her hands, trying to find a comfortable fit. Swords always seemed so short and clunky to her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude smiled at her, catlike. “Too scared to face me without one?” he asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid took the bait, settling the sword into her right hand and walking to the center of the grounds. “Best of three sound good?” she asked over her shoulder. “If you can’t take more than one hit from me I understand, but that is traditional.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can stand an extra hit or two if you promise to hold my hand at the infirmary,” Claude said, following after her. “Maya likes you, you know. She might yell at me less for getting hurt if you’re around.” The annoyed look Ingrid gave him just made Claude grin more. “Hey Ingrid,” he said, swinging his swords in an experimental arc, testing its weight. “What if we made the match a bit more interesting, what do you say?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What do you mean?” Ingrid said, wrinkling her nose. She was not in the mood for Claude to try some scheme or another, especially as her ankle was twinging just often enough to remind her that this might have been a bad idea.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nothing underhanded, don’t worry,” Claude said, reading her thoughts. “Just, let’s add a little extra incentive for the winner.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t - I don’t have money for that, Claude. You know that,” Ingrid said, feeling her cheeks flush. Technically, she did have a bag of coins buried in the bottom of Hermia’s saddlebags, currency from both Fódlan and Almyra. But that was given to her by the army, and was for emergencies and necessities. Ingrid wasn’t about to gamble the Kingdom’s money on a stupid sparring match, no matter how certain she was of victory.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was embarrassing to admit – things about money were always embarrassing to admit – but Claude was unfazed. “I don’t mean coin,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially. “I mean <em>information</em>.” His eyes sparkled, green and greedy, and Ingrid had to force herself to not look away under the intensity of his stare.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If you think,” she said hotly, “that I would gamble away Kingdom secrets while on a <em>diplomatic mission</em> because you were bored and thought it would be <em>interesting</em> –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude laughed, actually laughed, at this. “I don’t care about Kingdom secrets,” he said. “Well, I do. But that’s what I have spies for, isn’t it?” Ingrid opened her mouth to object, but Claude poked her squarely in the shoulder, throwing her off balance. “I care about <em>you</em>,” he said, and Ingrid swallowed hard, suddenly feeling that he had just upped the stakes rather than lessening them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You shouldn’t – I don’t have anything interesting to say,” Ingrid said, faintly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll be the judge of that,” Claude said. He took several steps back from her – Ingrid felt herself let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding – and swung his sword out with a dramatic flourish, ready to begin the match. “One hit wins the round; winner gets one question. Fair?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid matched his stance, the sword feeling and once too light and too laborious compared to her beloved lances. “And what if I don’t like your question?” she asked, lightly, trying to hide her doubts that he had any questions she <em>would</em> like.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude smiled. “Then you’d better hit me first, I guess.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid ran at him before his smile could fade, swinging upwards in an arc he barely blocked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I accept your terms,” she half-shouted as she swung again. This swing was more easily parried by Claude, and she took a step back as he did, both of them looking to reassess their chances.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude tested a series of swings, which Ingrid easily blocked, but she could tell from his hits, all speed and no power, that he had little intention of securing victory with these attacks. He was testing her, sounding her out, using a sword the same way he used his eyes and his smiles and his word on other, less suspecting, opponents.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid had seen Claude fight before, of course, but challenging him with swords was uncertain ground. He was a demon with a bow, able to fire off shots faster and retaliate at closer ranges than Ingrid would have thought possible. Strangely, this somehow translated into Claude being a cautious fighter with a sword in his hand. He hung back, evaluating her for openings, only occasionally making the first move to attack. His hits were precise, but evenly spaced. Claude didn’t attack; he waited.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid grew tired of waiting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With another dash forward, Ingrid swung her sword once, twice, three times. Claude deflected each of the attacks and gave a decent counterattack. Ingrid twisted out of the way of his blade, but rather than jumping backwards, she planted her foot and darted forward again, attacking Claude from the left.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was able to block with a cross-body parry, his feet twisting under him as he swung again, this time slashing upwards. Ingrid knew the proper form for such an attack. She ignored it. Instead, she took a step backwards, refusing to parry the blow at all. Claude sword followed through the swing, barely missing her chest as she stepped away from him. He overcorrected on the follow-through, raising the sword just a little too high over his head as he readjusted to bring the sword crashing down on her shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And in that space, Ingrid easily found an opening, driving his sword against his heart. She pulled back just enough as the point of the sword connected with Claude’s chest. She wanted to win, but she could be gracious about it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude looked at his heart, then to Ingrid, his eyes surprised. “A clean hit, Miss Galatea,” he admitted, dropping his sword to his side.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ha!” Ingrid said between heavy breaths. She could be <em>mostly</em> gracious about it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude flashed her a grin and she blushed; she was acting like a teenager, not a grown woman. But Claude was no better. “So that means one question for you – let’s hear it,” he said, raising an eyebrow and taking a step closer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can’t believe you’re taking that seriously,” Ingrid said, rolling her eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m a courteous loser,” Claude said. “And I follow through on my wagers. No one would play with me, otherwise.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid had a lot of things she could have said to Claude just then – telling him to just move on to the next round of the match, challenging him on the claim that anything about him was courteous, informing him that she <em>did </em>catch the innuendo, thank you very much, and he could stop waggling his eyebrows like he’d gotten some victory over her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What she actually blurted out was, “Why didn’t you kill me at Grondor?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It sucked all the air out of the courtyard. If there had been anyone else on the training grounds at that moment, Ingrid felt certain they would have fallen to a hushed silence. As it was, Claude stared at her, mouth open, for once in his life at a loss for words. Whatever coy or clawing question he had expected from her, it wasn’t this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We didn’t fight at Grondor,” he said slowly. His sword had dropped to his side, as if he was no longer carrying it. “There were plenty of soldiers I didn’t engage with. I had my eyes on a bigger prize – not that I won it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You saw me,” Ingrid insisted, half of her wishing she would take the answer and drop it, and drop her sword, and drop this entire game. “I barely made it out of a scuffle with an Empire falcon knight.  I wouldn’t have been able to dodge. I know you saw me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course I saw you,” Claude muttered. “You’re . . . unmistakable. But just because I saw you doesn’t mean I would –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You had the shot,” Ingrid insisted. “You should have taken it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What would I have gained from killing you, Ingrid?” Claude asked, bitterness at the edge of his voice, creeping inward.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What did you gain from leaving me alive?” Ingrid replied. It was more than just a shot taken or missed. Claude had looked at her as he flew by her, and not just a careless glace – a long, slow, studied look of recognition, his eyes filled with some mixture of emotion that Ingrid hadn’t been able to parse. Pity, perhaps, or contempt, or disappointment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ingrid,” Claude began, reaching out to her, then pulling back both his sentence and his hand. He started over, the words rolling off his tongue like they cut at him. “I buried so many of my men – of my <em>friends</em> – on that damned battlefield that day. Good people, who survived for so long, and died for so little. I couldn’t – I thought if I could just take Dimitri down, get him to <em>listen</em>, that I could have saved . . . somebody. Something. But I had no reason to hurt you. I was there to save the lives of the people I loved. I suspect that’s why you were there, too. We weren’t enemies, if you think about it like that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I would have killed you,” Ingrid said, bluntly, flatly, making herself believe it. “If I had to.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude nodded. He believed her. “Well then,” he said carefully. “I’m glad you didn’t have to.” He cocked his head to the side and drew his sword up, almost playful again. “I think your question is answered, though. Round two, Miss Galatea?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid nodded slowly, backing away from Claude to put adequate distance between them for the start of the match. “Round two,” she echoed, not entirely he had given her an answer worth winning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This time, it was Claude who dashed forward, ready to make the opening swing. His hit had more power this time, and more certainty, and Ingrid wondered if he’d gathered all the information he needed from the previous round.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She quickly parried his blows, waiting out his attacks as he drove forward. Finally, she found her opening, as Claude struck with a bit too much force and stumbled to regain his footing following the parry. She slashed her sword to the side with as much power as she could manage. Claude blocked her attack, but barely – he was clearly thrown off by the sheer force of it. Quickly, Ingrid brought her sword back towards him backhanded, hoping to catch him before he could readjust to meet her in a parry.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude dropped to the ground, crouching on all fours as Ingrid’s sword swished over his head. Ingrid narrowed her eyes, suspicious that he would leave himself open to an attack so easily, and swung downward. Claude flung his sword upward, barely blocking her attack, and Ingrid readjusted to catch him from the side – he had little chance of regaining his footing if she didn’t give him an opening.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The slight spark in Claude’s eyes should have warned her, had she been more measured in her swings. As Ingrid lunged to the side, ready to strike from the left and force Claude’s defense to his non-dominant side, Claude fell backwards onto his hand. Swinging his leg out, he swept a clean kick underneath Ingrid’s feet, sending her leg flying out from under her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Had Ingrid been more centered in her stance, she probably could have avoided Claude’s trick entirely, or at least withstood it. Instead, the kick put extra weight on her injured shin, and Ingrid collapsed under the strain. She toppled backwards, hitting the ground with a crash as her sword flew out of her hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude hopped to his feet and lightly tapped his sword against Ingrid’s knee. She didn’t even bother looking up; she could mentally recreate his expression with perfect accuracy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There’s no honor in winning a duel through dirty tricks,” Ingrid snapped, staring up at the sky.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I generally find that honor doesn’t go very far on the battlefield,” Claude replied, clearly unfazed. “That’s how I’m still alive.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid pulled herself up to her elbows and glared up at Claude. “So much for you being worried about my leg injury,” she said. She could feel pain shooting through her leg even without her weight on it, which was probably a bad sign.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude raised an eyebrow. “So you’re admitting you have a leg injury?” he asked. Ingrid’s furious glower did little to chastise him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My turn for a question, then,” Claude added, sitting down on the ground next to Ingrid. She rolled her eyes – she had thought he was going to offer her help up, but no such luck – and readjusted to make herself comfortable, sitting in the packed dirt. Claude leaned forward and stared at her intently.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well?” Ingrid asked, trying to prepare her best neutral expression – she had always been bad at hiding her emotions when under scrutiny.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why did you break formation at Derdriu?” Claude asked, the question sudden and certain, as if he’d had it formed since before the first swing of the match.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid flinched. “Who says I broke formation?” she said, glaring at Claude, daring him to call her a liar.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude raised an eyebrow, resting this chin on steepled fingers as he looked at her. “Teach – Byleth – wouldn’t have sent you down the front lines like that. Too many archers. Too great a risk. There were much safer routes for a winged rider than swinging out over the harbor like that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m surprised you were paying that close attention to me,” Ingrid scoffed. “Given how many troops you were fending off on your own.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, that’s the thing, I wasn’t on my own, was I?” Claude said, leaning forward. Ingrid leaned away, falling back on her elbows, her sword clattering next to her. Claude continued, “You took out two bowmen before they even had a chance to line up a shot on me – you! Taking on archers! I never pinned you as being so utterly stupid.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Utterly stupid saved your life at least four times over,” Ingrid snapped, her cheeks growing hot. The words were barely out of her mouth when she saw Claude’s slow, victorious smile, a sure sign she’d fallen into one of his traps, again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So you had some investment in saving my life, after all?” he said, leaning back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, of <em>course</em> I did,” Ingrid said, the blush spreading from her cheeks to the backs of her ears. “We marched on Derdriu to save the great Claude von Riegan. What use would I have been if I let them kill you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just a mission, then?” Claude asked, almost to himself. He looked at Ingrid and cocked an eyebrow. “I’m beginning to worry all of your missions have a death wish attached, Ingrid. You chose a flight path with a lot of arrows and a lot of water just to make sure I wouldn’t get a scratch.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Was unsolicited advice part of the wager?” Ingrid asked sharply. “I must have missed that part.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You always did play by the rules,” Claude muttered. “Still, I suppose I got an answer.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He practically jumped to his feet, which Ingrid found showoffish, but he was either too thoughtful to offer her a hand or thoughtful enough to pretend she didn’t need one. Ingrid got to her feet more slowly – she was starting to suspect that she needed to listen more closely to Maya’s medical advice – and stumbled back into place for their final, tiebreaking round.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They charged at the same time, this round. The dulled thud of practice swords still managed to echo throughout the training grounds with a sickening crack at each hit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid was able to match Claude blow for blow easily enough, but she could tell from the first exchange that she was faltering on her footing. Twinges of pain ran up her shin and through her ankle every time she landed on her foot ever slightly off-center, and if there was one thing Claude was good at, it was throwing her off her center. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude pushed her back, towards the edge of the training grounds, and Ingrid struggled to find an opening to change course. She moved to the side and Claude compensated, seeming to predict her intention of changing direction, and with several sideways jabs of his own, he was able to redirect her backwards.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid almost stumbled irrevocably when her foot hit the raised edge of the central training grounds. She didn’t have to look behind her to know the tall stone wall barely a foot behind her – and if she had looked back, she would have missed the smug grin that imperceptibly flashed across Claude’s face. He had her back to the wall, and he knew it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was the grin that did it, in the end.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her ears and ankle both burning, Ingrid leapt backwards, landing on the slight ledge behind them. Claude’s face had barely registered surprise when Ingrid raised her sword and brought it down with all her might.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The downward slash, coupled with the changed angle from her extra height, was almost enough to throw him off guard, but Claude regained his wit quickly to slash his own sword upwards, and their swords met with another echoing crack. Ingrid pressed down, gritting her teeth. With a low grunt of effort, Claude twisted his sword at the last second, twisting Ingrid’s grip suddenly and sharply.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid dropped her sword with a gasp as her elbow twisted unnaturally, but Claude’s sword clattered on top of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Both disarmed, they stared at each other for half a heartbeat. Then Claude lunged forward.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid blamed her damn leg injury that she wasn’t able to meet his lunge, but in truth, she hadn’t been expecting hand-to-hand combat. Forcing Claude’s sword out of his hand had been a ploy to reset the match, to give her another chance to set the parameters for sparring.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Too late, she remembered that Claude never let anyone else set the parameters.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He crashed into her hands-first, shoving her back against the wall behind her. Ingrid stumbled at the impact, unable to plant her feet enough to push back. Claude’s hands quickly found her wrists, and he pinned her to the wall, hands on wrists and elbows pressing against elbows. Ingrid gasped for air, a disjointed rhythm from Claude’s own heavy breathing, but after a few futile struggles to push him off her, she felt her shoulders sag and she glared up at him. Claude stared back at her, his eyes curious and sparkling – and utterly pleased with himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Technically not a hit, I suppose,” Claude said, shifting his hands against Ingrid’s wrists as she pressed back against him with little luck. “Do you yield?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s your question?” Ingrid asked through gritted teeth, looking away, waiting for him to step back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t. Although his hands relaxed against hers, Claude remained impossibly close, leaning into the wall and in towards Ingrid. She turned back to look at him – to tell him to get on with the question, to get out of her way, to let her go – and was shocked to find Claude was no longer grinning, the self-satisfaction she had been expecting replaced by a look of searching, genuine curiosity. Ingrid’s words, whatever they would have been, died on her lips, and her eyes darted uncertain of where to land, moving from Claude’s eyes to his mouth (also struggling to form words) to the ground and the back to his gaze.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well?” Ingrid asked, and her voice cracked, and she hated herself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude leaned forward, a fraction of an inch, and Ingrid could track the dozens of shades of green in his eyes, fractal patterns appearing in the bright afternoon sun. “When you say all you’ve wanted to be is a knight,” he said, his voice so low Ingrid could barely hear him. “Is it the place you serve, or the ideals?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ingrid blinked at him in shock. “One of those ideals is loyalty, Claude, if you haven’t noticed,” she said sharply. She shook one of her hands against his and he let go, dropping her wrists but not stepping back. She crossed her arms and glared up at him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claude’s eyebrows knit together, and he almost looked exasperated. “Yeah, but loyalty can be to a lot of different things, Ingrid,” he said, his eyes darting across her face. “Why do you want to be a knight?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“To – to protect people,” Ingrid said, her voice suddenly very small, and she remembered being asked the question as a child, by people who listened with much less intensity. “To keep my country safe – to fight for people who can’t fight for themselves.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We have people like that in Almyra,” Claude said. “There are people like that everywhere, Ingrid. Is it the place you serve, or the ideals?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This is – this question is so stupid, Claude,” Ingrid protested. She prodded him back, and he stepped away, leaving her feeling more cold and exposed and anxious than when he was closing in on her. She backed away. “You can’t have one without the other. You can’t.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is it loyalty to Dimitri?” Claude asked. He didn’t follow after her as she backed away from him, and if he started to reach out, he quickly thought better of it. “You said you’d answer, Ingrid, I just want to understand –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Understand? How can you claim to understand any of it?” Ingrid said, her voice rising slightly hysterically. “You’ve always been able to go where you want, do where you want – don’t you lecture me about loyalty.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not trying to <em>lecture</em> you about – that’s projection and you know it,” Claude said, his earnestness dissolving into a legitimate glare as he took a step forward. “I just want to know if –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Ingrid didn’t bother sticking around to find out what he just wanted to know. She turned on her one heel that was still fully functional and stomped out of the training grounds. If she limped as she walked, Claude didn’t swoop in to offer an arm. In retrospect, she felt foolish for expecting that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She stopped the stomping by the time she left the training grounds, and when she finally reached her room again, she was fully limping. She closed her door behind her a little too loudly, and didn’t give into the pain in her leg until she reached the writing desk at the other side of the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She grabbed Dimitri’s letter and smoothed it out against the desk, pouring over it one more countless time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She read it over two, three times, and then stared at meaningless letters making up meaningless words, but the knock on the door from Claude, that she hoped for, that she feared, that she expected, never came.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I really don’t know how we got here.  I don’t even <i>like</i> writing action scenes that much, and some how this entire fic is just alternating through Ingrid challenging men to single-handed combat and eating snacks. I guess, when I put it like that, I do know how we got here, that’s very Ingrid of her. I just don’t know why I’m the one writing it.</p>
<p>Well! I’m back! Did I make my 3 month mark? Don’t ask me to count; I’m extremely bad at math and also time is meaningless right now. (Fun fact, I actually had this finished over the weekend sometimes but then instead of uploading I spent all week hiding facedown in all my pillows and watching Steve Kornacki clips on my phone. I’m doing better now!)</p>
<p>Anyway, hope you liked this lil update of Ingrid’s Terrible Horrible No Good Fuck-Claude’s-Hot Week. If we keep with this update pattern, I’ll be back in February of 2021 with a chapter update where Ingrid does nothing but eat Everything Bagels and glare at Claude over the breakfast table. Should be fun! Take care of yourselves in the meantime.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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